
SEE ME FOREVER

By

Susann Oriel
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

SEE ME FOREVER

Published by Susann Oriel, 2017

ISBN 978-1-387-26672-2

Copyright © 2017 Susann Oriel

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the author.
Yesterday, upon the stair,

I met a man who wasn't there.

He wasn't there again today,

I wish, I wish he'd go away...

When I came home last night at three,

The Man was waiting there for me

But when I looked around the hall,

I couldn't see him there at all!

Go away, go away, don't you come back any more!

Go away, go away, and please don't slam the door...

Last night I saw upon the stair,

A little man who wasn't there,

He wasn't there again today

Oh, how I wish he'd go away...

Antigonish, 1899

Hugh Mearns
Contents

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two
Prologue

She would be home soon.

In anticipation, he began his descent of the grand staircase. The act of walking had long become redundant for he could move his lifeless body to any part of the house in the blink of an eye. His evening ritual was neither habit nor nostalgia for lost mortality. He did it for the pleasure of placing a foot where hers had been.

Arianna.

Before her, there had been emptiness. His home, built over a century ago with all the energy and ambition of a young man embarking on a bright future, had become an empty, desolate ruin. Emmaline had long ceased to satisfy him and by the time she had departed the house, he'd already confined himself to the upstairs room overlooking the street. Through the cracked, grimy windows, he spent his loneliness observing the comings and goings of Oak Lane's residents. His daily surveillance gave him no pleasure for his neighbors were of modern times and modern was not to his liking. He did it for there was nothing else to do.

Then she arrived. Fate in the guise of a young woman. She appeared one morning with a man—a realtor she called him—her soft, musical voice enlivening his senses like a burst of spring in a perpetual winter. Arianna Harte. A graceful, slender woman with hair the color of golden amber and shining green eyes stippled with black. With unsuppressed eagerness, she had inspected every room of his house, informing the realtor of the many changes she would make. When she'd stood at the door to his room, she had not entered, knowing it was his. She had the gift. For providence to deliver her to the house—to him—had come as a miracle.

Within the space of a week she had moved in.

On her first day, she swept and tidied and dusted the house from top to bottom. On her second and third, she polished the old furniture until it shone, cleaned the stained glass window in the living room and brought books down from the attic to arrange on the bookcase. At the completion of each task, Arianna would laugh her delight. It put him in mind of raindrops dancing in a sun shower.

In the second week, Arianna brought new things to the house—all manner of modern gadgetry which he did not recognize but came to know and love because they were hers. The house became as bright and fresh and exciting as she was. Unlike Emmaline, whose skirts covered her ankles, Arianna dressed in pretty dresses that sat high on her thighs. To rest his gaze on her slim legs gave him indescribable pleasure.

It was at the end of the first month that workmen came to the house to renew the wiring and plumbing and restore the kitchen. When they had finished their work, he was pleased with Arianna's charming, considered taste.

Thus, for many delightful weeks, he had watched this beautiful woman transform the house, his affection for her growing with each passing day. She was sweet tempered, well-conducted, gracious to those who came to the door and in the evenings when she sat alone at his table, he would sit next to her to watch her dine. He loved that she knew he was there. It was like they were engaged in an amusing game where he could nudge her plate with a finger or brush the air with a hand to catch her attention. Although he could barely contain his desire to make himself visible to her, he held back. His apparition, infinitely stronger than others of his kind, could frighten her—drive her away. So, with reluctant patience, he had set a date far enough into the future to excite her curiosity to know him.

It was on the very day of his intended revelation, a Sunday it was, that the young man arrived at the door. Arianna had immediately taken his hand and led him upstairs to her bedroom and for the first time since her arrival, she had closed the door.

Adam Armacost was his name and he was her lover from New York.

His loathing for the interloper knew no bounds. During the day when Arianna was away, Armacost would watch television—a monstrosity of a thing he'd brought to the house and fastened to the wall next to the fireplace. Sprawled on Arianna's new sofa, Armacost would stare at the ghastly moving pictures, all the time consuming beer from cans which he purchased in packs of six. His hair reached past his chin, he wore untailored clothing and he had no conversation other than sports and his business in New York which seemed to involve some kind of technology. He was a philistine unworthy of the house or Arianna's heart. Damn the man. The worst of it was their desire. Whereas Arianna had once spent her evenings downstairs reading, she now retired early to lie with her lover. He dared not enter her bedroom for her gift would sense him the moment he passed through the door. There was nothing to be done but wait his opportunity to rid the house of Armacost.

And tonight, to his utter joy, it had come.

She was angry. He knew it the moment she stepped inside the house and threw her keys in the pottery dish on the table by the door. Usually so poised and graceful in movement, Arianna made fast, inelegant strides to the kitchen, emerging seconds later with wine and glass. She sat on the edge of the sofa, drinking fast and staring straight ahead. Within a minute, Armacost burst into the house carrying his usual cans of beer. He flopped down beside her, ripped a tab and drank the entire contents without pausing. They were like this for some time, drinking, not speaking—the atmosphere as thick as a morning sea fog.

"All right I did it. I made a mistake. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"How could you?" she said, tears spilling over her soft cheeks.

"It was nothing."

"That makes it worse. Like cheating is meaningless!"

She drained her glass in two gulps and took another measure.

Moving slowly, so as not to alarm her, he placed himself in the armchair next to the sofa. She turned her head toward him, embarrassment expressed on her delicate features. Her humiliation cut deep to his heart yet he could not deny his elation that tonight she would not lie with Armacost. Indeed, he could predict with certainty that she would never couple with the libertine again. Arianna would never take a betrayer to her bed.

"Don't ruin everything we've got!"

The loud words took his attention to the distasteful sight of Armacost wiping beer foam from his mouth.

"Ruin everything!" she cried, slamming her glass on the low table in front of the sofa. "You're actually blaming me! What's her name?"

"It doesn't matter. It just happened."

"Nothing just happens, Adam!" she shouted. "Anyway, her name is Allison Patterson and she works at the Blue Sail Bar."

Armacost's brow rose high. "How did you...?"

"It wasn't difficult. Erradale Bay is a small town and people see things. And it wasn't just once according to the person who told me."

"I bet it was that skank, Tessa Cullen."

"Don't you dare call her that!"

"I'll kill the ho," Armacost said with such vehemence, Arianna drew back.

"It's not Tessa's fault," she said quickly. "You chose to cheat."

Armacost reached for her but she raised a hand in warning. "Don't touch me!"

"Let's go back to New York," he whined unattractively. "We were good there. I can go back to my old job and you can sell up here and work in that big bookstore you love."

She folded her arms. "This is my home now."

Armacost looked around the room, his mouth twisting in disgust. "It's a dump."

"It's beautiful."

"It's cold and creepy. You said it was haunted."

"Don't call it haunted," she snapped, looking toward the armchair. "The house has a spirit, that's all. It's here now."

"Jesus, you and your ghosts."

"Why her?"

He shrugged.

"Have there been others?"

"Course not."

"You came here to start your own web design business but all you ever do is sit around watching television or waste time at the Blue Sail. Now I know why."

Armacost stared sulkily at the can in his hand. "It only happened a few times and if Tessa hadn't told you, everything would've been okay."

"I want you to go, Adam. Go and stay with Allison."

"I don't care about her, it's you I want. I'm not leaving."

Arianna launched to her feet, bumping the table with her knees, the action sending both bottle and glass to the floor. "Suit yourself but I'll be at Tessa's for the night."

"If you'd just let me explain."

"What's to explain? You had an affair," Arianna said quietly. Walking unsteadily to the door, she took her keys from the dish. "We're finished, Adam."

"You don't mean that," he said, shaking his head. "Sit down and talk to me, babe. Anyway, you're not fit to drive."

"I'll walk to Tessa's." She looked at the armchair. "Please go," she said in a quavering voice, "I...we don't want you in this house."

Then she was gone.

It was all the permission he needed.

He allowed himself time to savor the moment. The expulsion of Armacost would be much more than avenging the wrong done to his sweet Arianna. It would be his gift to her. By morning, when she returned, her degenerate lover would be gone. Her gratitude—her awe of him—would bring her to his arms. It would not be long before she loved him, took him to her bed. They would be together forever.

He walked the living room, his thoughts focused gleefully on the task ahead. Destroying Armacost posed risk. Such an act would bring the constabulary to the house and Arianna could be held responsible. Regardless, she would know it was him and out of fear, might quit the house.

Nevertheless, he reasoned, there was much he could do. Armacost deserved no mercy as the man was obviously a fool to be so easily tempted by another—lesser—woman.

Placing himself behind the sofa, he spread his chilling aura over the man below. Armacost shivered. The action formed the deadly idea in his mind. For too long, he had been patient...waited in the shadows. It was time to take what was his.
One

"This better be good."

Logan Gauge thought of the woman he'd left in his bed. "In fact, someone better have died."

The heavyset, uniformed police officer coming down the path toward him heaved a chuckle. "Does half scared to death count? The neighbors called us when they heard some guy screaming his fucking head off."

Logan glanced at the street's residents huddled together on the sidewalk. They were all elderly. They looked scared.

"Okay, so where is he?" Logan asked.

"Gone before I got here. Bolted out the front door like his ass was on fire and took off in his car at a hundred miles an hour."

"Sounds like a job for highway patrol, not a detective."

"Don't be so sure. The neighbors said he was petrified."

"In Erradale Bay? The scariest thing around here is your home brew, Sergeant Tully. Jesus Christ, have you any idea what I've given up to come down here in the middle of the frigging night."

The sergeant's grin occupied most of his face. "I'm guessing blonde, five eight, legs 'til next week."

"Close. So what've we got?"

"Something you won't have seen in L.A."

"I doubt it," Logan sighed.

He lingered on the sidewalk to familiarize himself with his surroundings. Four Oak Lane stood as one of six remaining houses in a narrow, no-exit street in the oldest part of town. The houses were all two storied, gabled and of classic colonial architecture. Number Four was the largest by far. Even from the street, Logan could see it had at least seven gables, each decorated with an ornately carved gargoyle. At one time, the house would have been the grandest in town. Now it stood as a brooding hulk of dilapidation although there were signs of recent work. The picket fence had new palings and colorful flowerbeds flanked the recently cleared cobblestone path. The owner obviously had big plans for the place.

"Right, lead on, Sergeant," Logan said wearily, following the officer to the open front door. He'd give it ten minutes then head back to his bed although by now, she'd probably given up waiting and left. Dammit, Tully had a lot to answer for.

Then he saw it.

Ice. It stood from ceiling to floor in a single column, smack in the center of the living room. Around eight feet wide at the top, it stretched across the ornate plaster ceiling in a thick transparent sheet and encased a massive brass chandelier. The base of the ice spread wide and flat to the floor like a giant elephant's foot. The column itself was around five feet in diameter and in the center, beer cans were suspended as though hurled upwards and frozen in mid-flight. Even standing in the doorway, he could feel the chill of the thing.

Logan took a step inside. This was a warm summer's evening, the temperature in the mid-seventies. Even with an ice making machine, there'd be no way anyone could create a floor to ceiling structure like that, let alone trap cans midway. He checked for footprints. Nothing except a few water streaks leading to the front door, presumably made by the guy when he left. No open windows, no furniture moved around. Nothing at all to indicate how this might have been made or by whom.

"Well, what do you think?" Tully asked, standing beside him and stamping his feet against the cold. "Fucking incredible isn't it?"

"Any theories?"

"You're the detective, but no way could anyone make that."

"Who owns the place?"

"According to the neighbors, a woman by the name of Arianna Harte moved in several months ago. From New York, apparently. Then a guy arrived, Adam somebody or other. No one has his last name. From what the neighbors said, the woman owns a used bookstore in town. The Subtitle. Not my sort of thing."

"You mean reading? Hell, Sergeant, I took you for the intellectual type."

"Fuck you, Gauge."

Logan chuckled and rubbed at his arms below his T-shirt sleeves. There was no sign of the temperature rising despite the outside warmth seeping into the room.

"Who lived here before the couple?"

"Old Emmaline Calloway but she left...heck, must be ten years ago now. Place has been empty since. The old folk still talk about Miss Emmaline. Rich parents but after they died, Miss Emmaline never left the house. No contact with anyone apart from a weekly grocery delivery. Electricity turned off years ago. An old well out back. Rubbish piled high in the back yard. The neighbors would knock on her door from time to time but she'd yell at them to go away. Welfare finally took her. She's still alive in some rest home downstate. Must be close to a hundred by now."

Logan didn't need a full biography but with Tully being the town's longest serving cop, there was never a shortage of local knowledge.

"Okay, I'll need to talk to this Harte woman. Have you any idea where she might've gone. Presumably, she wasn't here when this happened."

"No idea but the neighbors might have her cell number. I'll ask."

While Tully went to talk to the neighbors, Logan checked the living room. An empty wine bottle and a single glass lay on the rug under the coffee table. Two people were here tonight, probably Arianna Harte and Adam. She would have been the wine drinker and she'd left in a hurry. On the outside of that much wine, she'd be either celebrating something or seriously pissed off. He guessed the latter.

He went to the kitchen. The back door was locked, the key hanging on a brass hook next to a new electric switchboard. In fact, the whole kitchen was new. The porcelain sink and stainless steel fixtures glowed under new halogen lights and the countertop, which looked original, shone with fresh varnish. The only things on display were a kettle, a knife block and a bowl of oranges and the only furniture was a pine table and four chairs, arranged in the center of the room. The place was spotless.

A gasp from the living room swung him around, his hand automatically reaching for his weapon. Hell, this wasn't L.A. he reminded himself, dropping his arm. He walked through to the living room to find a woman staring at the column.

"It's okay," he said, taking long strides to reach her before she fled in fright. "You must be Ms. Harte."

Her gaze shifted from the ice to him. "Yes. Who called the police?"

Before he could answer, Tully appeared. "No fucking..."

"This is Ms. Harte," Logan said loudly over the curse. "You might as well tell the neighbors to go home, Sergeant. I'll be along shortly."

"Right." Tully took another look at the column and raked fat fingers through his thatch of silver hair. "Fucking amazing all right."

"Sorry about the language," Logan said as Tully disappeared through the doorway. "I'm Detective Gauge...Logan Gauge."

Her eyes swept him and Logan was reminded how he was dressed. Old jeans way past the ripped, faded and 'cool' stage and a beer-logoed T-shirt didn't exactly scream police department professional. His scruff was three days too long and he needed a haircut.

She, on the other hand, was as neat as a pin in a short green sundress that set off her slender body to perfection. Around twenty-four years of age. Medium height. She was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way with her heart shaped face, honey-blonde ponytail and sprinkle of golden freckles on her nose. Her lightly tanned arms and legs suggested she was the gardener in the household, although her face was paler. She'd be the conscientious type that always wore a sunhat. She came across as a sensible young woman who could handle most things thrown at her. Even now, she didn't seem fazed.

"Where is he?"

Her question pulled him from his appraisal. "You mean Adam? He left before we got here, apparently scared out of his wits."

"I hope he's all right."

"Did someone threaten him?"

"I'm not sure," she said, looking around the room. Logan had the impression she was looking for something.

"Do you know where he might have gone, Ms. Harte?"

"Perhaps to New York where he...we came from. Or..."

"Or where?" he pressed.

"No," she replied with a small shake of her head. "He won't stay in Erradale Bay now."

"I presume he knows who did this?"

"No, he won't know. He'll be confused."

Logan watched her move to the column to stare up at the suspended beer cans, giving him opportunity to study her expression. There was no fear but she was thinking hard. Whatever had gone on here tonight, she had a theory.

"Was this here when you left?" he asked unnecessarily.

"No."

"Did you have a visitor tonight?"

"No."

"Is there anything missing as far as you can tell?"

She took a perfunctory glance around the room. "No."

She wasn't volunteering much. He expanded. "Why did you leave the house?"

Her head dropped. So he was right. Not a celebration. More like an argument with Adam during which she'd downed the bottle and walked out. Right now, she appeared sober enough but coming home to this would clear anyone's head.

"Why did you leave, Ms. Harte?" he repeated quietly.

She looked up but didn't quite meet his eyes. "We had a fight. I told him to go. When he wouldn't, I went to my friend's place in Aspen Street."

"And what brought you back?"

"Tessa, my friend, saw the police car going past with its lights on. I had a feeling..."

Logan took a step closer to urge her for an answer but found himself distracted by the intense color of her eyes. A deep emerald with tiny black flecks that a man might miss if he wasn't paying attention and Logan was all attention now. Dropping his gaze, he took in her straight little nose, the gentle curve of her cheek and the delicately molded chin. Her mouth was full and he imagined that when she smiled, it would light up the room. More than a pretty girl-next-door, he now realized. She was beautiful.

"What feeling, Ms. Harte?" he asked, struggling to maintain an impersonal tone through his increasing interest in this woman. How could he—a city-smart detective—have missed such a beauty in a small town?

His inquiry brought the green gaze briefly to his before turning away.

"You know who made this, don't you, Ms. Harte?"

She didn't answer so he tried another tack. "The old lady who lived here before you. Do you know her?"

Her dark brows curved in surprise. "Emmaline Calloway? I've never met her."

"Why did you buy this place?"

"Because I liked it of course," she said and then blinked in apparent embarrassment. "I don't mean to be rude, Detective. It's just that I didn't know it was so powerful."

"Powerful? Then you know the person?"

"Not really."

"Something brought back you to the house tonight. A feeling, you said. Can you explain?"

"I'm not sure you would understand."

"Try me."

There was no response to his suggestion but Logan could see she was working out how to say what was on her mind or whether to risk saying it at all. In his career, he'd questioned hundreds of people and he knew every reason in the book why they held back. In this case he expected it to be fear. Someone had gone to considerable effort to make this and with Adam scared to the point of leaving town, the motive had to be sinister. Yet strangely, Arianna Harte wasn't frightened.

He delved further. "Tell me about Adam. What's his last name?"

"Armacost."

"Roommate, boyfriend or husband?"

"Boyfriend."

"Serious?" he asked before he could stop himself.

She looked at him as if she knew every thought in his head. "Yes."

He shouldn't have gone there. Beauty or not, this woman was strictly off-limits. It was against police rules to socialize with anyone associated with investigations and it wasn't only the department's rule, it was his rule. He'd seen it too many times; police officers' lives screwed every which way by personal involvement with perps, victims and witnesses. It created complications—the messy kind that could stick around, particularly in a small town. The woman he'd left in his bed was from out of town. Just where he liked them.

"So what was your fight about?" he asked, annoyed at his lack of professionalism.

"I don't see how that's relevant."

"Actually, it's everything to do with it, Ms. Harte. What did you fight about?"

"Adam cheated and I found out," she said, meeting his gaze steadily.

"So I gather he won't be back?" It was purely his police training that kept Logan's tone impassive, but all the same, she had that knowing look again.

"No, he won't be back," she answered, studying him with a disconcerting calmness. "Does that make a difference to your investigation, Detective?"

Logan pushed on. "Ms. Harte, I want you to tell me everything you know about..." he jerked his thumb at the ice, "...that. It has to be related to your argument with Adam."

"As I said, you may not understand."

"I'm listening."

No answer. He was about to suggest they go outside to the warmth when she turned to peer at the pillar, so he waited.

For what seemed an eternity she stood completely still, staring up at the ice. If she didn't say or do something soon, he'd get her outside and take her to her friend's place. Besides, he needed to get back to his bed.

"This house isn't like other houses," she said eventually.

"It seems pretty normal to me," Logan answered, glancing around to make sure.

"It has a presence."

It was plain she didn't know what was going on any more than he did—reason enough to wrap things up for the night. The ice would melt in its own good time and Arianna Harte would have a minor flood to clear up in the morning.

"Ms. Harte," he said, "it's normal to be confused in a situation like this. Whoever did this could come back. Where can I drop you for the night?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, I'm quite all right here."

"I'd prefer that you stay elsewhere."

Ignoring him, she moved to the column and splayed her fingers over the ice as though trying to communicate with the thing. Logan took a step toward her, about to usher her outside when he heard the ice crack and saw a network of fissures opening beneath her fingers, hissing and fizzing as the cracks moved up the column. Logan felt the temperature rise by several degrees. The whole structure began to slip.

"Christ!" Logan looped his arm around her waist, half-lifting, half-dragging her away from the crumbling ice. She didn't resist, just fell back into his arms, the back of her head against his chest as they watched the column collapse. Even then it wasn't over. The growing mound of ice began to spread out across the floor, rumbling and heaving as though something living was trapped inside.

Logan didn't hesitate. Scooping her up, he carried her to the front door. She was as light as a feather—not much to her at all and even through his instinctive need to get her to safety, he relished the feel of her in his hold.

Reluctantly he set her down, ensuring she was fully anchored on her feet before dropping his arms. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, yes," she said matter-of-factly. "It was showing off."

Logan could not disguise his astonishment. "What on earth are you talking about?!"

"The spirit. It was angry at Adam's infidelity, I see that now. That's the reason for the ice. To frighten him from the house."

Logan hadn't picked her for a crazy woman. Quite the opposite.

"Ms. Harte, you're not thinking straight."

"It's the truth, Detective. And it won't harm me because it wants me to stay."

"Well, whatever it wants, I insist you stay somewhere else tonight," Logan said, running short on patience.

"I'll be fine here."

"That's out of the question, Arianna."

"Annie," she said and when he frowned uncomprehendingly, added, "everyone calls me Annie."

A pretty name. It suited her. "Well, Annie Harte, you still need to leave."

As though in understanding of his concern, she smiled and Logan's imaginings were realized. He found himself enveloped in a warm glow that seemed to shift the very ground beneath his feet.

"Do I have to, Detective?" she asked, still smiling.

"Yeah, you do. Come back tomorrow," Logan answered thickly.

Her eyes held protest. "But I need to clean up the ice first. Then I'll go to Tessa's."

"The cleanup will have to wait," Logan said as firmly as he could manage under the mind-melting emerald. "My car's outside."

"No need, I can walk," she said crisply. "It's only two blocks."

"My car's outside," he repeated, injecting enough steel into his voice so she wouldn't argue. He waited on the porch while she collected her handbag and locked the door. Both Tully and the crowd had gone. The front yard looked serene under the ironwork street light. The place was nice. Really nice.

"Is that it?" she asked, pointing at his black, dust-covered Navigator on the curb. Someone had scrawled 'clean me' on the door, most likely Tully on his way out. Trust the sergeant to point out to the world that Logan wasn't the most diligent officer when it came to police property.

"Yeah, that's it," he said, escorting her down the path. He opened the passenger door, cursing at the sight of his dirty gym gear strewn across the seat. Tossing his sweatpants, T-shirt and towel to the back, he all but hurled his trainers at the rear windscreen. He swore he heard a muffled giggle as she climbed in.

"Tessa lives at number sixteen," she said when Logan slid into the driver's seat. She swept an inquiring glance over his chest as though mentally matching the gym gear to his physique. Logan pulled his shoulders back in response although he doubted she saw him as dating material. To her tidy mind, he had to come across as a mess.

He fired the engine, feeling like an awkward teenager trying to impress the hottest girl in school. Okay, so she interested him. It was no big deal. He'd drop her off, go home and write a brief incident report stating something along the lines of 'unknown event.' If he reported it as a spirit haunting, he'd be the laughing stock of the station.

"It's the blue house on the left," she said when Logan swung the SUV into Aspen.

He pulled up at number sixteen. "If you need someone to help clean up the water tomorrow, I..."

She shook her head. "Thank you, Detective, but it's best if I'm in the house alone."

Logan stayed to watch her walk up the path, taking in her light, graceful walk. There was something about Arianna Harte...something enchanting. He'd never used that word in his life yet it seemed right for her.

Tomorrow he'd call the woman he'd left in his bed to apologize and reschedule. Yet even as he thought the words he knew he wouldn't reschedule. He'd apologize and leave it at that.
Two

She couldn't sense the spirit's presence but she tried anyway.

"Are you here?"

Silence.

Annie closed the front door and walked to the center of the living room. The spirit had cleaned up. There was no damage to the chandelier and the floorboards were dry. How it had managed all this she could not begin to imagine but this whole thing was beyond anything she'd ever experienced with spirits and she knew their habits well. At most they were mischievous—hiding a book under a sofa cushion, writing messages on walls or moving furniture around. But this spirit was different. It could conceal its shadow from her view and more surprisingly, it moved about the house as though it had a body. Many times she had sensed it sitting next to her at the dining table or in the armchair by the sofa. That it could achieve such a form was truly astonishing. Whoever...whatever it was, it had an extraordinary power.

She tried again to communicate. "Where are you?"

More silence.

Evidently he had no wish to make contact. He? It could be a 'she,' but Annie had the impression it was a man who occupied her home. From the beginning, she'd known it was fascinated with her, coming downstairs as soon as she arrived home and following her about in her household tasks. It seemed to enjoy that she could sense its presence, yet for some reason it would not make contact. It also had a strong sense of propriety. This she knew from its unwaveringly respectful behavior in the house and strict observance of her privacy. Not once had it entered her bedroom or bathroom and if she and Adam so much as touched one another, it would disappear. The spirit was discreet and courteous. That was the thing with spirits. Whatever they were in life, they took to the other side. This one was a gentleman or at least, it had been until last night's display.

She went to the kitchen, made chamomile tea and sat at the table, wondering what to do about the spirit..and Adam. Except her thoughts were back on the handsome detective. She couldn't stop thinking about him. Silly, considering he obviously thought her deluded. Last night, Tessa had pressed her on every detail about him—age, height, weight. Did he wear a wedding ring? Still, she hadn't minded discussing the very discussion-worthy detective with the messy brown hair and cedar-colored eyes. He had to be at least six feet two and from the feel of his arms around her, heavily muscled. Perhaps thirty years old. Yet there was a weariness—a sadness—about him that made him seem older. Something or someone had hurt this man. It would be interesting to know the cause of that hurt. It wasn't her business of course and besides, a good looking man like that was bound to be taken.

He could do with a tidy-up though. Annie smiled at the idea of tidying the detective as if he were a drawer of jumbled socks. He'd been so concerned for her. It was his job to be concerned for people's safety but when he'd picked her up in his arms, she'd sensed his rescue was more than a commitment to duty.

"Arianna."

Annie shot to her feet. It was behind her and so close, she could feel the chill of it on the back of her neck. She stood fastened to the spot, her whole body quaking with trepidation and excitement. After months of waiting...of wondering, she was finally to meet the mysterious, powerful spirit occupying her home.

Annie turned.

He stood an arm's length, his deathly pallor stark against the shadow surrounding him. He seemed to absorb all the light in the room, creating the appearance of a black and white photograph airbrushed against a dark canvas.

His hair was black and curly and his beard trimmed close. From the style of his clothes, he was of the Victorian era, perhaps the 1870s or 1880s, and she placed his age at mid-thirties, although with the shadow partly obscuring his features, it was difficult to be sure. His eyes were deep-set and densely black, allowing no distinction between iris and pupil. He was not a handsome man. In fact, he was rather ugly. His forehead was too wide, his brow too protruded, his mouth too fleshy and his height barely reached an inch above her own five feet, five inches. Yet what he lacked in attractiveness and stature, he made up for with an elegance that spoke of refinement and wealth.

"I did not mean to frighten you, Arianna."

The educated voice, as clear as a mortal's, came as a surprise.

"I—I thought you'd gone, at least for a while," Annie stammered, still caught by the reality of him. "What is your name?"

"Edmond Nathaniel Wilde."

"Then you are the man who built this house in 1886?"

He inclined his head, the small movement rippling his shadow in the way a skipping stone disturbs a pond. Annie took a step back as waves of cold flowed across her.

"Do not fear me, Arianna."

"I'm not afraid," she quickly reassured him. "May I call you Edmond?"

She felt she had to ask since his stiff demeanor suggested he observed such formalities.

He smiled above his dark beard, revealing small, rather predatory-looking teeth. "It would give me pleasure to have you say my name, Arianna."

"Thank you, Edmond. I have sensed you from the day I arrived but I did not know whether I would ever see your shadow. And here I find you as a man. You are very powerful."

"That is true."

"What is the source of your power?"

"It has developed over time."

"How could that be?" she pressed.

The spirit still smiled but his eyes glittered. "You've seen my power. Surely that is sufficient."

"Then may I ask your purpose in forming the ice?"

"You desired him gone from the house, did you not?"

"That's true," Annie agreed. "But your action was cruel."

"Betrayal must be punished," he said in a tone of displeasure. "Especially an adulterer's betrayal."

"Except we are not married," Annie pointed out. "And infidelity is a private matter between couples."

Edmond stepped closer. "You are not proposing to allow him to return to the house?"

"No," Annie said evenly. "But all the same your behavior was...is unacceptable."

This was not the conversation she had hoped for. Clearly Edmond's power had accorded him an arrogance that would make him a handful to manage. Despite his malice toward Adam, she had been prepared to allow him to stay. Now it seemed preferable that he cross over.

"Edmond, I think it's best if..."

"I am pleased he is gone," Edmond said abruptly. "I do not hold with fornication. It lowers the standards of this house and gives lie to your name."

"My name?"

"Arianna. It means chaste as an educated young lady like yourself should know. Your cohabitation with Armacost was sinful."

The censure lifted her hackles but Annie held her cool. "These days, many people live together before they commit to marriage." She paused, thinking of Adam. "Or don't commit."

"Any coupling is a commitment," Edmond said sharply, "and what your lover did was despicable. He lay with another woman and his actions made you weep. I will not allow that."

"I do not require your help with my personal life," Annie admonished. "None whatsoever."

A sly smile spread across his white features. "I could have done much worse to that profligate."

"You might have caused him to die of fright, Mr. Wilde."

His response was swift and fervent. "He is not fit for this house. He has no manners, no finesse. He drinks beer from cans. It is a disgusting habit. I cannot understand your defense of such a philistine!"

At the impassioned outburst, Annie shuddered. "Edmond," she said quietly, "Adam and I are not of your times."

"I tolerated his behavior for your sake, Arianna, and I now rejoice at his departure."

Annie fixed him with a stern eye. "Sir, you must accept my choices and my decisions. Under the circumstances, I think you should cross over."

"I cannot do that, Arianna. I am part of this house."

"You must cross eventually, Edmond, for there is nothing for you here. However, if you wish to remain for a time, you must promise not to interfere in my life."

"Very well," he said after a grudging pause. "I will accord you the appropriate latitude."

Annie was not entirely heartened by the words. "If you are sincere, then in return, I will help you."

"Help?"

"Find what is troubling you...preventing your passage to the other side. Only by joining your loved ones, will you find peace."

He stood silent.

"In order to assist you, Edmond, I must know when you died."

"1891."

"And how did your death come about?"

"I do not recall."

"Perhaps..."

He turned and walked from her—a pensive gait that took him to every part of the kitchen. He paused at the countertop, his shoulders slumping a little, whether from the exertion of moving or a painful memory, she could not determine.

"I cut the lumber for this," he said, resting his hand on the lustrous wood.

He spoke with such sadness, it left no doubt in Annie's mind that behind his arrogance, Edmond was a melancholy spirit. However he had died, it was not from illness, as she knew those signs. No, he had died from something else—something so disturbing, so terrible, he had expelled the memory altogether.

She watched him resume his inspection of the room, trailing his fingers over the knife block as he moved along the counter. Annie wondered what he could feel beneath those fingers and when he bent to study her china teapot on the table, she had an overwhelming urge to touch him to see what he was made of—if he was, as he appeared, solid. From the careful examination of his environment, she guessed this was the first time he'd made himself physical in a long time, if 'physical' was the right word for a spirit.

He returned to stand before her. "It was a joy for me when you came here, Arianna. There has been no one since Emmaline."

"You could communicate with her?!" Annie asked, astonished.

"Like you, Emmaline had the gift."

"I didn't know that. But she is still alive, Edmond. Perhaps she could come to visit?"

"No," Edmond said quickly and then added with a smile, "it is not necessary."

"The realtor told me Emmaline lived here for many years. Surely you miss her?"

"I do not require her company now that I have you."

Annie was not convinced. For decades, Emmaline had been Edmond's only companion and, inevitably, they would have formed a bond. According to the local historical society's records, Emmaline's parents, Charles and Frances Calloway, had bought the house in 1910. Charles had been killed in the First World War and Frances had died of pneumonia in 1938. That left twenty-year-old Emmaline alone in the house. She must have stayed for Edmond's sake.

"Edmond, when you built the house, who else lived here?"

His face took on a tragedy that made Annie gasp. "I'm so sorry. I've been tactless."

"My wife," he said softly. "Charlotte."

"Did she die before you?"

"It was after me."

"Do you know what happened to her?"

"I do not."

"Then she did not die in the house or you would have seen her spirit." Annie had an idea. "Edmond, perhaps I could find out what happened to Charlotte?"

"Do not trouble yourself with such matters."

"But I want to," she said, smiling despite his deep frown. "It shouldn't be too difficult. There must be a record of both your deaths."

He looked at her indulgently. "You are a determined young woman."

"People tell me that," Annie agreed with a laugh. "In the meantime, you must not distress my visitors. I cannot accept anything less in my home."

"Your home?"

"Yes, my home."

Then in return I must ask something of you."

"If it is within my power to give."

"You will never leave me."

"Be assured, Edmond, I will be here. And when you are ready to cross over, I will be at your side."

Yet Annie did not see gratitude or even relief in the coal-black eyes. Rather, she saw calculation. He was assessing the sincerity of her promise. Edmond wanted something from her but his Victorian politeness precluded him from uttering the words. She did not doubt that on better acquaintance he would disclose his innermost thoughts.

"I will leave you now, Arianna," he said, the shadow around him swirling to blur his form. "We shall talk again soon."

Annie watched the magic of Edmond dissolving until only his white face lingered in the air. Then that too was gone.

"Edmond," she whispered, stepping into the emptiness. "It was nice to meet you."

A band of shadow appeared, enclosed her wrist. The chill of it felt light on her skin, not unlike the feeling of cold silk on a warm day. It rose up her arm to caress her cheek and Annie trembled. This was not the touch of a lonely spirit seeking mortal companionship. This was a lover's touch. The longing that he could not articulate—it was for her.

She angled her head from the icy caress. Immediately the shadow lifted from her skin.

"Edmond," she said.

He had gone.
Three

Logan buttoned his jacket and then unbuttoned it again. It wasn't as if he'd never had a haircut and thrown on dress jeans and a decent leather jacket before. Normally, he didn't do this level of tidy on a Saturday unless he was on a date. Or, in this case, about to pay a visit to the shipshape Annie Harte.

Satisfied he could do no more to improve his appearance, he pushed at the door to the Subtitle. The door didn't give so he gave it a shove and it flew back, sending the 'open' sign into a frenzied swing in time with a bell clanging somewhere over his head. Logan cursed as he stepped inside and made a grab for the sign before it flew off its mooring. A noise came from the depths of the store. Annie popped up from behind the counter, her arms full of books.

"Detective," she said, setting the books on the counter to reveal a view of her top half. And what a top half it was with her hair in a silky tumble past her shoulders and her generous mouth turned up in a smile that warmed every part of him, just as he knew it would. Today she wore a red square-necked top trimmed in white. It made him think of a stop sign—an uncomfortable reminder that she was off-limits and he was here on police business. Not entirely true. Nothing new had come to light on Four Oak Lane but it was excuse enough to see her.

"Ms. Harte, I didn't know if you'd still be open," he said, totally lying through his teeth.

Her smile widened and Logan bathed in its beauty.

"I'm open to three on Saturdays. Have you not paid a visit before?"

"No, but I've seen it in passing." Another bare-faced lie. Truth was, he'd never noticed the place and he'd had to check the Yellows to get the address and opening hours. Like Tully, he wasn't big on bookstores, although he'd once visited a used bookstore in L.A. as part of an investigation. As he remembered it, the place smelled of mold, cigar smoke and unwashed proprietor.

Annie's store couldn't be more different. Every book was neatly shelved under signs that said Natural World, Young Adult, Romantic Fiction, Crafts and so on and in a corner by the window were two large armchairs with a coffee table between. She had no customers but he had checked on that before coming inside. He wanted her full attention...and privacy. As it was, the whole town knew of the happening in Oak Lane and the last thing he needed were rumors that the police were taking the so-called haunting seriously.

"Well, it is most pleasant to see you again, Detective. To what do I owe this visit?" she asked, her green eyes watching him curiously.

Logan was intrigued by the way she talked. It was kind of old fashioned as though she'd been raised in a bygone era. Her accent suggested west coast origins, probably the North West and her down-to-earth manner said small town. But whatever her roots, it didn't explain that elusive part of her that still bothered him. He was good at reading people. He pretty much knew what made them tick and what drove them to do what they did—attributes that had propelled him to the rank of lieutenant in record time. But Annie Harte had him stumped. Disarmingly open, clearly practical, yet with a strange knowingness behind that unruffled exterior. Then again, it could just be his subconscious telling him she was the most interesting woman he'd ever met and to do something about it. That is, if he met her grooming standards. From the way she'd looked him over—from this morning's haircut to new sneakers, she evidently approved of the makeover, although it could be more a case of 'boy, have you cleaned yourself up.' Either way, it made him feel like that self-conscious teenager all over again.

"Just a routine follow up," Logan said, pulling an extra breath. "To make sure you're okay."

When her brow lifted in query, Logan cleared his throat. "Are you okay, Ms. Harte?"

"Perfectly thank you, Detective. I wasn't expecting a visit from the police."

"All part of the job."

She made no response so he looked around, feigning interest in the rows of books. "Plenty of books I see," he said idiotically.

She gave a soft laugh. "Yes plenty of books. Perhaps there's something to interest you?"

"Well, yeah, I like all kinds of books," Logan answered awkwardly. Another lie. The occasional crime thriller was the sum of his reading. Hell, he wasn't used to this. He was the tough detective who'd dealt with the most dangerous criminals L.A. had to offer. He didn't get flustered by anything, especially not by a woman.

"We have a good fiction collection or perhaps you prefer something on sports." Her gaze drifted inquiringly over his face. "What interests you, Detective Gauge?"

"Actually...." He cleared his throat again, damned sure she already knew the answer. "I'm interested in what happened at your house the other night," he said, watching for a reaction. There was none. "Has Adam made contact?"

"Yes, he emailed me." She looked away but Logan still caught the sadness in her eyes. "He wants his things sent to New York."

It was an unnecessary question on his part and in all honesty, asked purely for personal reasons. He'd already checked with NYPD. Adam Armacost hadn't come forward which, under the circumstances, was surprising. Then again, this whole thing was off-center.

"Well, he hasn't made a complaint," Logan said, "but I'd still like to clear the case. Did he say who the perp was?"

"Who?"

"The perp." When she looked confused, he clarified. "The person who made the ice."

"Oh, you mean the spirit," she answered, then smiled. It was as if the sun had come out. "Yes, he made the ice."

So her talk about spooks the other night hadn't been some shock inflicted aberration of her mind. She really was deluded. Beautiful but deluded.

"Look," he said, stroking his chin while he thought of how to say 'you're operating in some parallel universe' without insulting her to the point where she'd order him out. "That ice column wasn't made by some ghost. It was made by a human being. What I want to know is who the human being is. If Adam hasn't told you, then we'll leave it at that."

"I never use the word ghost. They are spirits."

If nothing else, she was totally upfront with her delusion. Okay, if he had to insult her to sanity then so be it. "You do know that's nuts, don't you?"

She propped her elbows on the counter to rest her chin on her hands. "Why is it nuts?"

"Because..." Logan stopped, his thoughts in tatters at the sight of her breasts plumped above the 'stop sign' top.

"Because what, Detective?" she urged, brushing her hair away from her face. She looked so neat and sleek and so damned beautiful.

"Because," he repeated, ordering his brain to focus on her words and not her mouthwatering assets, "there are no such things as spooks, ghosts, goblins, elves, or even leprechauns if they count."

She angled her head in her hands, the tip of her tongue flashing when she nipped at her bottom lip. "How do you know there are no such things as spirits?"

"Because, I do," he answered lamely, staring at her mouth.

She laughed. "That's no answer."

"Okay, well I've never seen one so they don't exist."

Not his sharpest response but he had things on his mind. Moving to the nearest bookshelf, Logan yanked out a paperback, doing his best not to ponder the pleasures to be had with Annie Harte's luscious mouth. Except the thought was right there, nailed to his heated imagination. When her lips parted for him they would be soft and sweet but he'd take his time with that first kiss. He'd let the tension build until she urged him for more and then, and only then, would he slide his tongue into her warmth for his first taste.

Logan blinked and looked down. Crochet for Beginners. Jesus, he was an idiot. Shoving the book back in its place, he moved along the row and extracted a hardback. Greatest Plays in Baseball. Better. Flipping through the well-thumbed pages, he focused on an old black and white photo, worried he was about to get an erection.

Logan was still lost in his bother when he heard her behind him. Swinging around, she stood three feet from him, her crimson top a passing blur as his gaze made a high-speed run downwards. Skinny blue jeans that shaped her slender hips and legs to perfection and red stilettos. Logan all but groaned out loud. God, he loved heels.

"Spirits exist, Detective. You've seen what they can do."

"So what—what can they do?" he asked, barely paying attention as he worked his errant gaze up her body.

"This particular one is able to make ice," she said simply, as though she were commenting on the weather. "Actually, his name is Edmond."

"Who?"

"Edmond Nathaniel Wilde to be exact. I didn't know his name until yesterday morning. The thing is," she said with a rueful-sounding sigh, "he's a gentleman and could not tolerate Adam's infidelity."

"You've lost me."

"And he disliked the way Adam drank his beer from cans," she continued without a trace of humor. "He considers that slovenly."

When Logan stared at her in bewilderment, she laughed. "Oh dear, I'm not making myself very clear, am I? You see, Edmond Wilde built the house in 1886 and he's been there ever since. I spoke to him yesterday."

"Ms. Harte," Logan said, deciding a return to formality was the better way to deal with her reality slippage. "I called in to make sure you're okay and if the guy who scared your boyfriend shitless...sorry, half to death has come back. Evidently he hasn't."

"You don't believe me do you? I don't mind you know."

"I deal in facts and evidence," Logan told her decisively.

"So what does the evidence tell you about the ice?"

"It can be explained logically, given time."

"Fiddlesticks, Detective. When I returned to the house yesterday morning, the water was gone."

"That figures. A warm evening."

She looked exasperated. Logan half expected her to wag a finger at him.

"Edmond Wilde cleaned up!"

Logan was beginning to feel exasperated himself which, under the circumstances, was probably a good thing. He was dangerously close to breaking the department's golden rule...and his. That she believed in ghosts or spirits or whatever the hell she called them didn't make her any less appealing. If anything, it just made him want to straighten her out with a good lesson in rational thinking. Then taste that beautiful mouth.

Logan shoved the baseball book back in its place. "Look, if anything further comes up, call me. Otherwise the case is..."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Well..."

The sound of the bell turned their attention to the door. A woman wearing a bulging rucksack staggered inside and kicked the door shut. The 'open' sign flew off its hook.

"I brought them all at once." She spotted Logan. "Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you had a customer."

"He's not a customer," Annie said, returning the sign to its hook. "He's..."

She stopped and to Logan's surprise, turned pink. She'd been talking about him and if that hot face was anything to go by, the conversation had been detailed.

"Let me," he said, stepping forward to lift the rucksack from the woman's back. Setting it on the floor, he turned to Annie. "Well, I'll get going. If there's anything..."

"No need to go on my account," the woman said quickly, her eyes on his holster. "You must be Detective Gauge."

Logan nodded.

"You've had a haircut and you are really tall. Annie said you were tall."

Logan glanced at Annie. The cheeks were hotter still. Exactly how she'd look aroused, he thought with a sigh.

"This is Tessa Cullen," Annie mumbled. "You dropped me at her place the other night."

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Cullen," Logan said, his eyes back on Annie. Damn, she'd be tempting laid out on his bed with those cheeks.

Tessa's raucous laugh cut short his sexy contemplation. "Call me, Tessa, please," she said. Tucking her long brown hair behind her ears, she squatted down to upend the rucksack. Collecting up the books, she eyed him through a tangle of red-streaked bangs. "I like a man who serves and protects."

Logan held his tongue at the cliché. He wasn't warming to Tessa Cullen—the over-friendly type, not averse to shooting the mouth off. Around the same age and height as Annie but that's where the similarity ended. Tessa Cullen was all curves and skintight denim—a complete contrast to the willowy, neatly packaged Annie. Logan couldn't see them as friends. The personality fit was wrong. Whereas Annie had a soft, almost innocent femininity about her, Tessa was full-on sexually aggressive. Already she'd given him the vibe. While he didn't judge her for going after what she wanted—he'd done it himself more than once—he disliked the blatant disloyalty.

Tessa dumped the stack of paperbacks on the counter. "I got everything they had on the paranormal."

"These are from the library's book weed," Annie explained, straightening the pile. "Tessa works at the Cut and Dried next door. She's the senior hairdresser. She's very good."

"Oh right," Logan said, wondering whether she was implying his haircut was substandard.

"Detective, what's your take on the other night?" Tessa asked, edging toward him. Logan caught a whiff of her cloying perfume. It was all he could do not to step back.

"You need to talk to Ms. Harte about that."

"All that ice. Do you believe it was the spirit?"

"I don't think Detective Gauge wants to talk about spirits," Annie cut in.

Tessa looked from him to Annie then back again, her expression amused but shrewd. "So, why are you here then?"

"Just a routine follow up," Logan answered. "I'm glad everything's okay. Ms. Harte, I'll leave you to get on with your work."

"Detective Gauge," Tessa said, now leaning against the counter and looking him over. "Would you like to come with us to the Rocket Bar tonight?"

"Actually, I can't go tonight," Annie said hurriedly. "I've got to get Adam's things ready for the courier."

Tessa's eyes continued to work Logan. "Perhaps you would like to come...to the Rocket, I mean?"

"I'm sure the detective will have plans," Annie hissed before he could answer. "It is Saturday after all."

She had that pink face again.

"Yeah, I do have plans," Logan confirmed.

In reality, he had no plans. The woman from the other night had called with an offer to take up where they'd left off. He'd declined.

Tessa snared her bottom lip and released it slowly. "That's a pity. Perhaps some other time?"

"Heavens, it's past three," Annie chipped in. She began to stack the rest of the books at one end of the counter so Logan took the burst of activity as his cue to leave.

"It was nice to meet you, Ms. Cullen. Ms. Harte, if anything more on the case comes to light, give me a call at the station."

"I will, Detective. Thank you for dropping by."

Logan heard regret in her voice. He hoped it was because he was leaving but it could be because she was late closing her store.

"You're welcome." He yanked open the door, starting as the bell clanged again.

He was twenty yards down the sidewalk, when he stopped. Dammit, he was going to do this. To hell with his off-limits rule. He'd wanted to see her again and he had. It wasn't nearly enough. The spirit-believing, deluded Arianna Harte was in his veins.

He turned and began walking back to her store. Tessa Cullen or not, he'd ask Annie out right now. Not to the Rocket or some noisy café but somewhere quiet where they could talk. There was a new seafood restaurant in town. The guys at the station said it was upscale for Erradale. It specialized in imported wines, one of the few things he missed from L.A. If Annie turned him down, then he'd know once and for all she wasn't interested. At least he would have tried.

He was almost there when she opened her door and stepped out, peering down the street away from him. When she turned her head and saw him, her eyes flashed pleasure.

"Oh Detective, I'm glad I caught you."

"You've remembered something about the intruder?"

She shook her head. "Oh no, it's not that."

"Would you like to go back inside to discuss it?"

"It's about Edmond," she said with a thoughtful frown. "He's...well, he's troubled."

Jesus, that again. "And how can I help?" Logan asked, preparing himself for some crazy response.

"Do you investigate cold cases?"

"No, not really," Logan answered, surprised. "They're usually dealt with by city police. Small towns don't have the resources for cold cases."

She looked down, her hair making a veil over her cheeks. "Actually, Detective this case is really cold. It's..."

"Would you have dinner with me tonight," he blurted.

She didn't look surprised. Maybe she had expected it?

"If it won't affect your plans, I would like that very much," she answered, her green eyes twinkling.

"There's a new restaurant on the pier, the Pelican," he barked through his relief. "What say I pick you up at eight?"

"Eight," she confirmed with a nod. "I'll be ready."

Logan imagined she would be. Not a minute past.

"Okay...well then I'll be off."

Logan gave her a farewell nod and headed down the street again, his step lighter now. He didn't look back but he knew she was watching him—the bell hadn't clanged. Only when he was about to turn the corner at the end of the street did he hear it.

Logan grinned all the way home.
Four

Logan's dinner invitation hadn't come as a surprise. From first sight, there'd been enough sexual chemistry between them to take things further—quite a way further if the heat of Logan's gaze on her bare shoulders was any indication. Yet Annie couldn't help feeling a little guilty at her willingness to put Adam aside. Two days along and here she was, back in the swim and almost literally. The Pelican restaurant sat on the end of Erradale's longest and oldest pier and the view from every window was nothing but ocean.

"Have you been here before?" she asked, taking the seat Logan held out for her.

"No, first time."

He shrugged off his jacket and handed it to the waiter. Annie liked the way Logan moved. Relaxed, yet with a quiet authority. A reassuring, almost soothing combination—as if things would always be okay when Logan Gauge was around. Tonight he was by far the best looking man in the restaurant...and the neatest. His charcoal-colored slacks and white business shirt were well-tailored and his ultra-short haircut suited the fine shape of his head although, in her opinion, the cut could have been left a little longer. Perhaps he didn't do regular haircuts and went all out every six months? Regardless, he'd turned himself out most agreeably and it was all for her. It was impossible not to feel a thrill at the knowledge.

He took the seat opposite, turning back his sleeve cuffs to reveal the sculptured muscle of powerful forearms. Annie shivered at the thought of being wrapped in those arms.

"Are you cold? I thought this place..."

"Oh, I'm quite warm," she hastily assured him.

He looked over her halter-neck little black dress with eyes that warmed every inch of her body. "You look lovely, Annie."

"Thank you. You look very nice too."

He smiled. "Thanks. What would you like to drink?"

Annie liked his smile as well. The left corner of his firm mouth rose a fraction higher than the right, creating a small, very appealing dimple on his cheek.

"White wine would be nice."

"The Gisborne chardonnay," he instructed the hovering waiter who nodded, set out menus and slipped away.

Logan filled their water glasses. "Your friend Tessa is interesting," he said in a tone that suggested he found her anything but. "Have you known her long?"

Annie understood his curiosity. Tessa would come across as an unlikely friend considering how different they were. True, Tessa was brash, inclined to speak her mind too often and too loudly and she'd flirt with anything in pants, which apparently included Logan. Annie didn't mind. Tessa had a kind heart.

"I met her a few days after I arrived in Erradale," Annie answered and then added defensively, "Tessa is a very honest person and a good friend. If she hadn't told me about Adam's affair, I'd still be in the dark."

"A helpful friend," he said dryly.

"Yes she is," Annie insisted. "And I was able to help her when she had a problem with a spirit."

"A spirit?"

"A spirit," Annie confirmed, ignoring Logan's skeptical look—it was, after all, a familiar reaction. "It turned out to be a poltergeist. A bad one. Making all sorts of noises in the house and filling the tub to overflowing. I had to perform an exorcism to get rid of it."

He grinned. "Probably kids. Why didn't you call the cops? Tully eats vandals for breakfast."

Annie rolled her eyes. "No, it was a poltergeist. I saw it."

"Yeah?" he chuckled. "So did it have a white sheet over its head?"

"They gave up sheets years ago," she tossed back. "Surely a detective would know that."

He leaned across the table in a conspiratorial manner. "So are there any here?"

"Don't look now but there's one behind you," she whispered. "It's saying 'who is this disbeliever? Does he not know my power?'"

Logan sat back and raised his hands. "Whoa, that's scary. I hope it's not planning to join us for dinner?"

"Don't be silly. Seafood gives them indigestion. Anyway, it's gone."

"So where did it go?"

"Somewhere a sensitive can't follow."

"That's no answer," he said, echoing her words from this afternoon.

Annie placed a hand over her heart. "You mock me, Detective Gauge."

"I do indeed, Ms. Harte. But you started it."

The waiter arrived with the wine and after filling their glasses, waited to take their orders. Every dish looked so tempting, Annie's mouth was watering by the time she opted for the fettuccine with shrimps. While Logan talked to the waiter about the catch of the day, she made one of her usual clairsentient checks of the room. There might not be a spirit behind Logan but there was one next to the kitchen door. At one time the pier had been Erradale's only dock so over the past hundred or so years, fishermen would've died here from accidents at sea. For some reason, this spirit hadn't crossed over. It hung in the air like a streak of shimmering coal dust, waxing and waning with each swing of the door.

She thought of what Logan would say if, in all seriousness, she told him about the spirit. Perhaps he'd make light of the whole thing or think her silly. But then again, perhaps not. Her paranormal talk hadn't put him off asking her out.

"How long have you lived in Erradale Bay?" she asked after the waiter had left with their orders.

"Around a year. I'm from L.A."

"And what brought you here?"

"A change."

"From what?"

"From what?" he echoed softly. "From things."

"Did you leave family behind?"

"A sister, Hannah. My parents live in Florida."

"No one else?"

His eyes cooled. "An ex-wife."

"Oh, I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

When he spoke, Annie heard hardness. "Don't worry about it. I came to Erradale because it's a long way from L.A."

"Yes, it is," she agreed lamely.

He surveyed her quietly. "And who have you left behind, Annie Harte?"

This was a safe topic as, apart from the foolishness of trusting Adam, her life had always been without complication or fuss.

"I left my great-aunt Cordelia in Lipstone Creek, Oregon. She raised me after my parents died when I was seven. She owns a general store. It's kind of old-fashioned...sells everything from ribbons to crop seed. She's retired so has a manager now."

He nodded as if she had clarified something. "I see."

"You see what?"

His eyes warmed. "I can see you in that store."

"Well I did help out a lot. Too much, Cordy always said. She was forever telling me I should be doing my homework instead of tidying the store."

He grinned. "I can see that as well."

"Really?" she said, a little puzzled. "Anyway, Cordy is also a sensitive although her gift is no longer as strong as mine. It can diminish with age."

"She did a fine job of raising you."

Annie tingled at the compliment. "Thank you. When I was young, it frightened me that I could see spirits. Cordy taught me how to communicate with them. Most are harmless—lost souls wanting help to cross over. Except for the poltergeists, of course. They need a shove."

To his credit, he didn't laugh at her or even crack a smile. "So why did you leave your aunt and the ribbons and crop seed?"

"After college, I wanted to take over the store but Cordy wouldn't hear of it, insisted I spend time away from Lipstone. So I moved to New York to do postgraduate studies. I met Adam and we moved in together. He loves New York but I could never live in a big city permanently. So we compromised and came to Erradale."

"And you don't want to return to Lipstone?"

"Oh no," she said firmly, startled by her own declaration. Any notion of returning home couldn't be entertained now that Logan was in her life. She shouldn't feel like this, not so soon. Her attraction to this man, more than she'd ever felt for any man, called for common sense, not recklessness.

"I'm glad, Annie," he said with a soft smile. "Very glad."

Annie felt herself lost for words under his warm gaze. Fortunately, the waiter arrived with their meals and they settled in to eat. The food was delicious, the wine a perfect complement and their conversation pleasantly focused on life in Erradale Bay.

"Logan, how would I go about investigating a murder?" she asked when she had finished her meal and arranged her cutlery neatly across her plate.

"I take it you're talking about the cold case. What date do you have?"

"1891."

If she'd picked a date from Roman times, he could not have looked more incredulous.

"You did say 1891?"

"I did," she confirmed, not missing the way his mouth twitched. "The trouble is Edmond doesn't know how he died so it wasn't illness or an accident because he would remember. That leaves murder."

"I see," he said, blowing a slow breath. "And your ghost doesn't remember a thing?"

"Spirit," she corrected. "No, he doesn't know. It would be helpful to find out about his wife as well. She died after him."

"I see," Logan said again.

"The thing is, I must know what happened to Edmond for his peace of mind. He's very sad and needs to cross over to be with his wife. Would there be a record somewhere?"

"Why don't you ask your ghost, sorry, spirit about the town's records? He was around at the time."

Annie overlooked the sarcasm. "I can't. He's disappeared."

Completely disappeared in fact. Since her encounter with Edmond yesterday morning, she'd neither seen nor sensed him. Even last night in the living room, he'd not put himself in the armchair next to her. Something had changed. This was a new Edmond and she wasn't sure what to make of it all. It was possible he considered it improper to be alone with her in the house, unchaperoned. It was also possible he thought he'd overstepped the mark by touching her. Perhaps he was ashamed of his boldness? Perhaps he thought it a betrayal to his wife?

"If he's gone then that's the end of it, right?"

Logan's no-nonsense tone took Annie by surprise. "Oh he'll be back, sooner or later."

"Perhaps he never existed in the first place. Perhaps it's your spooky old house putting ideas in your head."

"So you acknowledge the existence of spirits?" Annie said stubbornly. When he frowned, perplexed, she sniffed, "you did say spooky."

He smiled. "Okay, you got me on that. Look, if you must carry on with this investigation, check with the state archives. They might have a record of any sensational murders in town."

"Perhaps," Annie said thoughtfully. "And Emmaline Calloway might be able to help. She's a sensitive and communicated with Edmond for years. That would be a good start, wouldn't it?"

Logan drained his glass. "Would you like dessert?"

Annie caught the irritation in his tone. "Coffee would be nice."

Logan signaled the waiter and when he turned back to her, Annie found herself on the end of a very firm gaze.

"Annie, I've gone along with all this ghost stuff because it's...well, it's a bit of fun. But can we drop the whole silly thing? I'd rather talk about you. Smart, interesting and maybe a little kooky, Annie Harte."

Teasing and disbelief Annie accepted as a matter of course. Condescension, served up with a backhanded compliment, was intolerable. "Don't patronize me," she said icily.

He held her gaze without apology. "In all honesty, you cannot expect me to believe that you spoke to some guy who croaked in 1891?"

"Why not?! You're a detective, aren't you?" Annie said tartly, the illogicality of her argument lost in her irritation.

He shook his head. "This is ridiculous."

Annie opened her mouth to retort but promptly closed it again. The spirit by the kitchen had sensed her and was on a direct path to their table. It had no real pace but all the same it would reach her within a minute or so. She had little choice but to leave. To converse with the wretched thing in front of Logan would earn her more ridicule.

"I have to go," she announced, standing.

"Right," Logan sighed, standing also.

The waiter, on his way to a nearby table, made a hasty detour. "My apologies for keeping you waiting, sir. Perhaps dessert or a liqueur?"

"Just the check and my jacket," Logan answered brusquely.

The waiter's face fell. "Of course, sir."

It seemed every diner in the restaurant had halted their conversation to watch her and Logan walk off in different directions—Logan following the waiter, her on a fast track to the exit. No doubt they assumed a quarrel but Annie was not of a mood to care.

At the door, she checked the spirit's progress. It was barely fifteen feet from her now, passing directly over the head of a woman. The woman shivered as if someone had just walked over her grave.

Annie stepped out into the night air, grateful, and not for the first time, that spirits were unable to move more than an arm's length from their homes. She stood at the pier railing, drawing in the smell of the ocean while she waited for Logan. Their date had begun with such promise. Now it lay in ruins. There would be no goodnight kiss to end her evening. More likely a polite handshake, followed by Logan's hurried retreat to his car.

"Annie."

She turned to find him frowning down at her. "Are you okay?"

Being so close to his big body, Annie wanted to put her face in his shirt. "Yes, I'm fine."

His features relaxed to an easy smile. "I thought when you saw me, you might kick those heels off and start running."

"Oh, would that matter?" she asked, suddenly shy. Looking up to his face, his eyes were cast in shadow, the planes of his handsome face sharply defined in the moonlight.

"Well, apart from the fact I'd have to try and catch you," he said, still smiling, "I wouldn't get to do what I'm...wanting to do right now."

The small hitch in his breath caused Annie to stare at him a little harder. There was no smile on his face now, and the sultry heat in his eyes caused her own breathing to stall.

"And wh—what is that?" she whispered, unable to contain the throaty hunger in her voice.

No answer, but their mutual need left no doubt. Logan's hand slipped around the small of her back and drew her close. She stood breathless, not wanting to break the sweet anticipation of this first kiss, yet knowing it would not begin to quell the desire she felt for this gorgeous man.

Gently, he lifted her chin, looking into her eyes as his mouth came down to hers. She parted her lips to receive him.

His tongue traced her top lip, then the bottom and when she sighed for more, he gently slipped inside her mouth. Annie trembled at his expertise. His kiss—sweet and slow yet incredibly sensual, was powerful and addictive. She shifted her hips a little, feeling hardness press against her stomach. Within a heartbeat, her body reacted. An explosion of lust, as visceral and unfettered as she had ever known, put Annie on her toes to push herself to him.

Logan's tongue plunged deep. Her sex flooded in rampant desire to hold that other plunging part of him inside her body. When he lifted her butt to hold her steady to his erection, she moaned at the perfect rigidity, every cell in her body screaming for relief.

"Annie."

He pulled back. Annie looked around, dazed. A couple from the restaurant stood watching them, the woman smiling a little, perhaps in envy of their intimacy.

"Just sorting out the sober driver," the woman explained, rummaging in her purse while the man continued to stare. She retrieved a set of keys, smiled at Logan and strolled off down the pier, the man following in a not entirely straight line.

"Some show we gave them," Logan said huskily as he buttoned his jacket. "I'll take you home."

Annie tucked her arm in his to keep herself steady. "That would be nice."

They walked along the pier, in step and without conversation. The night air sat warm about Annie's shoulders, yet she could not contain a shiver at the feel of Logan's arm against hers. From that most glorious moment when this man had walked into her life, she had known they were destined for this.

For tonight.
Five

Logan was still glowing from the kiss. He'd expected a girl-next-store kiss, something soft, even hesitant. Instead, he'd gotten a tongue-tangler that had turned his blood to fire. Yet it was more than the kiss, more than the novelty of Annie Harte that captivated him. It was that enchantment thing and damned if he didn't love it. Annie was a sublime mix of candor and mystery, cool composure and unrestrained passion. She was, quite simply, his fantasy come to life.

The drive to her place had been fast but if he'd been obvious in his need, she hadn't seemed to notice. For the entire trip, she'd sat still and silent, making him wonder if she'd had second thoughts about the rest of the evening. Despite all that heat on the pier, first date sex wouldn't be her normal. Except when he'd walked her to her door, she'd promptly invited him in, mumbled something indiscernible and made a beeline for the kitchen, her black pumps echoing loudly against the floorboards.

So here he was, stranded in the living room, aching with need and half expecting Annie to appear any second with a graciously worded request for him to leave.

He inspected the living room floor while he waited. Oddly, there was no sign of damage from the other night. In fact, the floorboards were polished to the point where he was pretty damned sure he could see the reflection of his shoes. She was house proud, all right.

Five minutes on and still no sign of her. Deciding to spare her the embarrassment of an exit conversation by feigning an early morning start, he went to the kitchen to find her standing stock-still in the middle of the room, staring up at the ceiling.

"Annie."

She turned. "I was just checking something but it's all right," she said, smiling her soft smile that, as always, warmed him to his bones.

Presumably the 'something' was more of her supernatural nonsense but he wasn't about to risk riling her again. "I've got an early start," he said. "And you must be tired."

Her response was to slip into his arms and lean her head against his chest. "I'm not tired."

Logan held her tightly her as an unexpected wave of protectiveness swept him. Annie might come across as more than self-sufficient but he couldn't shake the feeling that something could threaten her. He put it down to his imagination running wild in her broken-down old house.

"Everything okay?" he asked, nuzzling her hair. "You seemed preoccupied when I came in."

She raised her face to look at him in soft-eyed contemplation. "Yes, I'm quite all right."

He bent to kiss her but she drew back. "Not here, Logan. Upstairs."

Logan lifted her, strode out of the kitchen, across the living room and up the stairs, resisting the urge to take them two at a time. "Which way?" he barked on the landing.

"Left."

"Door?"

"Second."

Her bedroom door was open and as he entered, he scanned the room, a habit from years of police work. Large and furnished to match the style of the house, the room was lit by an old glass table lamp that threw subdued light over the bed but left the edges of the room in shadow. An ornate closet, which he knew to be an armoire thanks to his Francophile sister, sat against the wall next to the door. In the opposite corner, a large free-standing mirror stood by a bay window. As expected, there wasn't a thing out of place.

"Close the door," she whispered.

Heeling the door closed, Logan laid her on the bed. He slipped off his jacket, took several condoms from an inside pocket and placed them on the nightstand, thanking his stars he'd forgotten about them after an abandoned trip upstate last week.

Without undressing, he settled down beside her and gathered her in his arms. This whole thing—being on her bed, holding her, seemed so surreal, he couldn't quite believe it was going to happen.

"Are you sure about this, Annie?"

Her answer was to curl her arms around his neck and kiss along his jaw. When she pulled her head back to look at him, Logan was temporarily paralyzed by the sight of her face flushed with arousal—just as he had imagined.

Then it hit him. The realization that this night with Annie would be different to anything he'd experienced with any woman. True, she was different and yes, he wanted her like there was no tomorrow, but it was more than the sex. He wanted her to know that he cared. Hell, he wanted to court her, right here in her bed.

Sliding his fingers into her hair, he cradled her head to study her beautiful eyes. There was no seduction in the emerald depths, only her candid, unguarded desire. Annie's openness, her complete trust that he would do right by her, had Logan silently vowing to give her one unforgettable night.

He kissed her, keeping the contact light and leisurely. When he gently pressed his tongue to hers, she sighed and welcomed him into her mouth. For several minutes they lay together, using only their mouths as foreplay. Logan didn't think he'd ever been so hard.

When he finally lifted his head, he saw the emerald had turned dark with urgency. Cupping her breast, Logan groaned his delight at the feel of firm, braless flesh filling his palm. Loosening the bow at the back of her neck, he peeled her dress away, glorying in the sight of pretty rose-tipped globes framed by light tan lines. He tongued a tight nipple. Annie arched to get closer. Logan took her in his mouth, exploring every inch of the delicious mound before moving to sample the other.

Still holding a breast captive, he slid his hand over her stomach but his fingers had barely reached her panties when he felt her tugging on his belt buckle. Logan raised his head to watch her, caught in a mixture of lust and amusement as Annie, all concentration, carefully undid his belt, the top button of his pants and then the zipper. She slipped her hand into the pouch of his briefs and stroked him.

Logan jumped at the sudden bolt of pleasure.

"You feel nice," she said with a small sigh.

Logan watched her work his erection free and then, to his dazed surprise, begin to pump him with a skill that had him groaning. It wasn't so much the perfection of her work; it was the unexpectedness of it and if he didn't stop her soon, he'd come. Christ, they'd only just got started. For sure, he was in for one hell of a night with this angel.

Slipping his arm around her waist, he drew her up and kissed her, hoping to distract her. Thankfully, her hand slipped from him and before she could find him again, he shoved himself down the bed until eye level with her thighs.

Pushing her slim-cut dress up over her hips, Logan growled approval at the sight of a small tempting triangle beneath black lace. Lifting her hips, he rested his face in the apex of her legs, taking time to absorb the heady combination of perfumed skin and aroused woman. She raised her hips a little, politely urging him on. Logan, now safely back in control, grinned as he tugged the black lace down past her knees, waiting while she freed a dainty foot. Her legs went wide for him and Logan found himself mesmerized by the sight of her neatly trimmed pussy two inches from his face.

Magnificent.

Working his tongue deep into her wetness, the taste of her drugged his senses like a powerful ambrosia. Buried—lost in her—he tasted, caressed and explored every part of her sex, still unable to quite believe that this incredible woman was his for the night.

He lifted his head and kissed along her inner thighs.

"Logan, please don't stop."

The polite plea had Logan grinning again as he returned to his task. Slipping two fingers inside her, he pumped and sucked, building his pace when she began to tremble.

"Oh, God!"

He felt her core clench his fingers, felt her thighs go rigid and then her body lock in a quivering arch. Through her soft cry of relief, Logan heard her say his name. It came so naturally, so utterly without reservation, Logan closed his eyes to savor the sound.

Easing the pressure, he continued to lave her gently, enjoying her little frissons as he brought her down. When she finally stilled, he slid up her body and kissed her.

"You're incredible, Annie."

She looked at him quietly. "You didn't let me finish."

"What? You finished all right."

"No, I mean..." She ran a finger around a shirt button, mischief in her eyes. "You know."

He rasped a laugh. "Oh, that. Well, we can't have you not finishing."

Standing, Logan shed his shoes and socks and pants, aware she was studying his bulge. God, she was sexy.

"So beautiful," she said when he stripped off his briefs to reveal his manhood—standing as stiff as a cop's baton.

"Are you going to take that dress off or not?" Logan said with mock seriousness. "I warn you, if I have to do it, I can't guarantee its safety."

She eyed him playfully. "In that case, I'd better do it."

Logan was mesmerized all over again by the sight of her removing the black pumps one at a time and leaning over the side of the bed to set them perfectly parallel to each other on the floor. Lying back on the bed, she raised her hips to ease her dress down. He half expected her to get up and hang it in the armoire but she neatly folded it and placed it beside the shoes. It was like watching a tidy stripper in action. Totally sexy.

She adjusted her pillow and lay back. With her slender body laid out for him and her hair in a fan around her head, she was out of this world. Stripping off his shirt, Logan slid onto the bed and kissed her. Her tongue went into his mouth at the same time her hand slipped between them to find him. He was supposed to let her finish and he would, but after that strip-tease, it would have to wait. Right now, he was at the end of his rope to have her.

"Annie, I..."

She brushed her lips over his. "I know," she whispered, falling back to watch him sheathe himself.

Logan settled himself between her legs, grunting in appreciation when she adjusted her hips to position him against her sex. Looking into her accepting eyes, Logan felt as if he'd been on a long journey and had finally come home. With every discovery of Annie, he found something new in himself.

He pressed against her entrance. Her legs wrapped his hips in invitation and he slid into her, feeling her muscles clamp in involuntary resistance, then relax to take him deep. He held still to give her time to accommodate the invasion but in truth, he didn't want this fast. Not yet. He'd reached his destination and he was going to enjoy her, not just take his fill of her body. This would be a leisurely climb of the mountain. That is, if he could manage slow. She felt incredible—warm and slippery and unbelievably snug.

"You feel good," he whispered, making slow slides.

She nibbled his neck. "Of course."

Stilling his movements, Logan raised himself on his hands to look down at her flushed face. This fabulous woman wasn't only hot, she was fun. Hell, there were so many layers to Annie Harte, it'd take a man a lifetime to get through everything she had to offer.

"I thought you'd be mad," he said, grinning.

"Oh, why is that?" she answered, smiling back.

"I didn't let you finish."

She squirmed as though checking him for fit. "I think I like this better."

Logan gave a lazy thrust. "I'd have to agree."

"Do that again."

"Yes, ma'am."

He withdrew completely and then slid home, loving the sensation, loving the talk.

"I need you to go faster," she said solemnly.

He sank himself to the hilt in another easy slide. "Yeah? How fast?"

"Quite fast."

He pumped her twice. "Like this?"

"Yes, that's about right," she said with a shiver.

Logan laughed. She was amazing. So much for a slow climb. He was ready for that summit.

He dropped down to kiss her. Sliding a hand under her ass to fasten her hips to his, he thrust into her, relishing the feel of her sex rippling around his shaft as she met him stroke for stroke. He increased his pace, feeling her core tighten as her orgasm closed in. Moments later it hit. This time she came on a loud gasp, her sex squeezing on him so hard it triggered his release. Logan didn't hold back on his shout as wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through his body until he thought he'd pass out from sheer ecstasy.

He was still shaking when he finally rolled off her. He'd never come so hard or for so long. In a way it shocked him that he could derive such gratification from a woman he barely knew. One mind-blowing orgasm and she'd put him in Paradise.

He lay back to catch his breath. Looking over to Annie, she was on her side, watching him with quiet eyes. He shed the condom and wrapped her in his arms.

"I like your lovemaking," she murmured into his chest. Warm fingers traced his abs then followed the line of hair down to his groin. "You have a nice physique. I like that too."

Logan grunted. "Goes with the job." He kissed her forehead, wondering how many times he could do this tonight before his body gave out. He had a feeling it would be a record. Already he was primed again.

He leaned to kiss her but she eased him away. "My turn," she said softly.

Logan lay back. He felt her hair tickling his chest as she slid down his body, felt her kissing around his abs while her fingers took his shaft. Wet warmth closed over him. If he'd thought her hand was skilled, her mouth was pure sex. Logan groaned as she took him with an intoxicating rhythm he wouldn't have believed possible. He closed his eyes, trying to hold his climax to a respectable time frame but as she took him deeper and her hand began to pump in perfect unison, he gave up.

He came just as she lifted her head.

"Get out of my room!"

Logan snapped his eyes open to see Annie sitting back on her heels, her head turned toward the door.

"Get out!" she screamed again. Logan, reacting instinctively, rolled off the bed in one movement, cursing himself for leaving his gun locked in the SUV's glove box. Lunging at the door, he expected to make contact with an intruder. When he felt nothing but cold air, he turned to Annie. She was on her feet, staring at the closed door with an expression of pure horror.

"Annie, what is it?"

"You've been watching, haven't you?" she screamed, advancing toward the door. "How dare you enter my bedroom!"

In two quick strides, Logan had her arm in his grip. A chill swept his hand. He shivered but maintained his hold, fearing she was in the throes of a psychotic break. This was his fault for bedding her on a first date and in a house she thought was haunted. It had pushed her over the edge.

She slumped a little so Logan pulled her into his arms to support her weight. "Tell me what you can see, Annie."

"I couldn't sense him. I wasn't paying attention." Her eyes lifted to his and he saw the anguish. "Our lovemaking. It made me unable to sense."

"Sweetie, there's nobody here but you and me," he soothed. "It's just your imagination."

She trembled against his chest. "No, Edmond is here, by the armoire."

Logan looked, seeing nothing but gleaming wood and polished brass handles. "Sit down," he ordered, switching to police officer mode.

Pushing her back, he sat her on the end of the bed. Then something caught his eye in the mirror by the window. The reflection of a man's face, pale and surrounded by a dense shadow which, as he watched, extended into the room as rippling black fingers.

In his career, Logan had faced many dangerous situations. Always, he analyzed risk. When to confront, when to back off. Knowing the difference could determine life or death. But for the first time in his life, he was faced with something outside rational analysis. Whatever the fuck that thing was, no weapon, no action could deal with it and from Annie's reaction, it was a deadly threat.

Snaring her arm again, Logan pulled her to her feet, holding her firmly while he retrieved their clothes from the floor. He began to tow her toward the door but she struggled against his hold.

"It's all right now, he's gone."

Logan wasted barely a second on checking the mirror before wrenching open the door and pushing her ahead of him into the passage. "Yeah, but we're leaving anyway."

"You saw him?!"

"Put this on," he directed, holding out her dress.

She didn't move. Logan decided against trying to get her dressed. Slipping his jacket over her shoulders, he dragged on his pants, slung her dress over his shoulder and bent his knees to pick her up. She stepped away from him.

"Don't you see? Edmond made himself visible to you. They can't do that."

"I don't give a fuck what they can do. We're leaving."

"He watched our lovemaking. He saw everything!"

"Lucky him. You're coming to my place." When she opened her mouth to protest, he put his arm around her waist and lifting her off her feet, carried her with one arm, using his free hand to grip the bannister as he made his way downstairs in the semi-darkness. He'd get her to his apartment, give her a brandy and put her to bed. Tomorrow he'd decide what to do about the situation. He'd never believed in ghosts and he wasn't about to start now. There was a logical explanation. He just needed to figure out what it was.
Six

Annie woke with a start.

She sat bolt upright, scanning the room, terrified that Edmond had somehow broken free of the house and followed her.

But there was nothing. Only the early morning light on Logan's messy bedroom, although there were signs of a tidy up since last night. Clothes were piled in the corner by the door. The empty beer cans had gone from the bedside table. Even the top of the dresser was clear of whatever had been there. She couldn't quite remember. It all seemed a dream now. A dream started less than twenty-four hours ago when Logan had stepped into her store. Never in a lifetime could she have imagined the chain of events that would put her here; the dinner, the lovemaking, Edmond's manifestation in her bedroom and the drive to the apartment. Logan had put her in one of his T-shirts, ordered her into bed and watched over her until she'd fallen asleep.

Sinking back into the pillows, she stared at the ceiling, the events of last night playing in her mind like a horror movie caught in perpetual rewind. Somehow, Edmond had achieved the impossible. He had entered her bedroom undetected, had listened to every word, witnessed every intimacy. Annie felt sick at the violation of her privacy.

"Coffee?"

Logan stood in the doorway and Annie's heart lifted at the beautiful sight. Bare chested and in blue jeans set low on narrow hips, he looked so strong and reassuring.

"What time is it?" she asked, sitting up.

He sat on the edge of the bed to hand her a mug of steaming black coffee.

"Early. Around six."

The coffee was too bitter for her taste, but she sipped it anyway, not wanting to offend him.

"I know it's bad. Cops' coffee."

"It's fine," she said. When he cocked a brow in disbelief, she conceded, "actually, it's not very nice."

She set the mug on the bedside table.

He looked at her with a grave expression that he tried to make playful. "How are we this morning, Ms. Harte?"

"Fine," she answered. His brow rose again. "Really, I am. Where did you sleep?"

"Sofa."

"I'm sorry."

"No need to be. I've fallen asleep on it often enough watching sports."

"No, for everything. You must have thought I'd lost my mind."

"I thought I'd lost mine," he said with a bleak smile.

"The important thing is you believe me now."

He squeezed her fingers. "How about breakfast?"

"Tell me what you saw."

"Annie, I don't know what I saw."

"Please, I must know."

He released her hand to rub along his forehead. "Something in the mirror. A face surrounded by shadow."

"That's him."

"It was a trick of the light."

"No! You saw Edmond. Each spirit has its own unique appearance."

"What, like a fingerprint or something?"

"Exactly like that. The spirit in the Pelican glistens when it moves."

Confusion flooded his eyes. "The one behind our table? I thought you were joking."

"I was. But there was one by the kitchen and when it realized I had the gift, it started toward me. That's why I left in a hurry. I didn't want to talk to it."

He looked at her, dumbfounded.

"Welcome to my world, Logan Gauge."

"Hell Annie," he said, staring at her in bewilderment, "I admit that thing last night was something, but you seeing ghosts everywhere? That's crazy."

"No it isn't! Lots of people have paranormal experiences but don't realize it. Like when you think you're being watched but there's no one there. That kind of thing. With me, I actually see them.

Her words did little to ease the doubt in his eyes.

"Explain what you see."

"Spirits are invisible energy, like electricity or microwaves. Mediums are able to sense a spirit's presence but sensitives actually see them. They appear as shadows—some round, some long, some like a wisp of smoke when a candle is blown out. With the stronger ones, the shadow can manifest as a face or even a partial outline of a their former self although it's so blurry, you can't really tell what they looked like."

"And you can communicate with them?"

"I speak to them like I speak to you. Their voices come as whispers. Except for Edmond. He speaks normally. I don't know how he does that."

"They're always with you?"

"Not always. They only exist where their mortal form died."

"So why do they hang around?"

"Each spirit has its own reason for not crossing over. It can be reluctance to leave a loved one or simply that they don't know how to leave. The poltergeists like to stay to make mischief. They can be quite stubborn."

"What happens when they do leave?"

"They lose their supernatural energy so cannot return."

"Where does the energy go?"

"Nowhere and everywhere if that makes sense."

"It doesn't. What about your spook?"

"Edmond is more powerful than any spirit I've known."

"How come I could see it?"

"I don't know. It's puzzling."

Very puzzling indeed. The only logical explanation was that somehow Edmond had gained a foothold in the living world although that made no sense either. A spirit could not return to mortality.

"How long was it in the room?"

Logan's rifle-shot questions were beginning to feel like an interrogation.

"I can't say," she answered truthfully. "Possibly the whole time."

"You're saying it watched us like some voyeur?!"

"I think so," Annie said, feeling ill at the thought. "But I still can't believe he would do such a thing. He's a gentleman."

Logan laughed brutally. "Some gentleman. The guy must've had one helluva hard on. We gave him the full works."

"We did," Annie agreed with a small shiver. "I think he manifested because he sees you as a threat to my affections."

"You mean it's jealous? Well, I'm jealous. That thing gets to see every inch of you whenever it wants."

"Oh no, spirits can't sneak up on me," she said firmly, despite the realization that Edmond might be the exception.

"This one got past your ghost-radar didn't it?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I just hope it was because I was too preoccupied to notice him."

Logan chuckled. "As I recall, you were pretty preoccupied. I'll fix breakfast, then we'll talk about what to do about this...whatever the hell it is. Wear my robe if you want. It's somewhere around here."

"I have to go to the house," Annie said, wriggling forward to lay a hand on his chest. "Edmond will be waiting for me. I must talk to him."

"Forget it. Last night you were scared to hell. If that thing is as real as you say, and I'm not totally buying into all this, then it could be dangerous."

"Then I guess it's a whole day with you," Annie said, playing her fingers over his pecs. "We could take a shower."

A thumb and forefinger fastened her chin. "Not planning to do a runner while I'm naked by any chance?"

"Of course not," she assured him. "Why don't I shower while you fix breakfast? You can't object to that?"

He studied her thoughtfully before standing. "Eggs okay?"

"Great."

"Five minutes," he said, giving her a 'don't try any funny business' look on his way out.

Annie darted out of bed, dashed to the bathroom, turned on the shower and sped back to the bedroom to set about finding her dress. It wasn't in the closet, the clothes pile or lying in the dust under the bed. It crossed her mind that Logan might have hidden her dress to prevent her leaving. She almost cried her relief when she found it hanging with his ties behind the bedroom door.

Shimmying into her dress and taking deep breaths to steady her racing heart, she stepped into the passage, half expecting to find Logan standing with arms folded, wearing a 'where do you think you're going' expression. The passage was clear. Tiptoeing toward the front door, she paused by the kitchen to listen. She could hear eggs frying and Logan humming an old country tune. Annie thought wistfully of what she was leaving. A delicious Sunday breakfast followed by a day in his arms.

Last night, he'd locked her house and hung her keys along with his own on a hook by his front door. Carefully lifting both sets free, she eased open the door. It was pure luck that in his haste to get her to safety last night, he'd left the SUV on the curb.

Annie bolted down the path.

The central locking system chirruped loudly in the early morning quiet. Scrambling into the driver's seat, she was fumbling with the seat adjuster when he appeared on the porch. As he strode down the path, shouting at her to get out of the car, Annie locked the doors. Firing the engine, she hit the gas hard. In the rear vision mirror, she saw him running back to his porch. It would take him at least ten minutes to get a vehicle sent from the station or call a cab. By then she would be well and truly home.

***

He was waiting at the top of the stairs.

Annie closed the front door, dropped the keys in the pottery dish and with her chin high in a show of defiance, walked calmly to her kitchen. He would follow her of course, but she was determined to ignore him for as long as possible. There could be no exchange with Edmond until she had composed her thoughts and prepared her words. To reclaim her home, every word she said to him had to matter.

"Arianna."

Ignoring the commanding voice coming from the doorway, she set her china teapot and matching mug on the table, switched on the kettle and, with her back to Edmond, stared out the kitchen window to wait for the water to boil.

She felt him behind her, his chill penetrating the thin fabric of her dress, reminding her of her nakedness beneath.

"Arianna, I insist you speak to me."

When she did not acknowledge him, he nudged the kettle with a pale finger. Annie held firm. The finger brushed her back.

"You will not ignore me, Arianna."

"Don't you dare touch me!" she shouted, swinging around to face him.

Edmond's dark eyes flashed uncertainty.

"A gentleman never enters a lady's bedroom uninvited," Annie continued indignantly. "You promised not to interfere in my life. You have no honor, Mr. Wilde."

From the flicker of pain in his eyes, her words came as the ugliest of insults. "I regret the intrusion, Arianna, but you gave me no choice. You have betrayed your own standards with that...that policeman!"

The word, uttered so viciously, came from deep within his chest.

"My standards are my business," Annie retorted. "And that policeman is far more of a gentleman than you could ever be!"

Edmond's fleshy lips drew back in an angry sneer. "I can smell him on you. I will not allow this indecency in my house!"

"Do not speak to me of decency," Annie snapped. "You entered my bedroom to watch. How long..." She caught herself in time. "What did you see that was so indecent?"

Furious eyes glittered on hers. "I saw you take him into your mouth like a common whore!"

So Edmond had been in the room for only a minute or so. At least her 'ghost-radar' as Logan called it, was more or less intact.

"A man who betrays his own word cannot be trusted," Annie said haughtily. "I will have to take steps."

His eyes held unease but Annie took no comfort in his disquiet. Edmond would know he was too powerful to be forced to the other side by an expulsion ritual. Her only weapon was the threat of returning him to his loneliness.

"If you do not obey my rules, Mr. Wilde, I will leave this house forever."

Edmond's features took on a terrible anger. His shadow ballooned wide to blanket the room in darkness. Annie shivered as he moved close. She put out a hand in warning but immediately snatched it away in shock. The cloth of his coat felt frighteningly real.

"You promised not to leave me," he said, leaning to her cheek. "I expect you to keep that promise."

She turned her face from the ice-cold breath. "I will do as I please, Edmond."

"Then I must punish you."

Annie heard the table skidding across the floor followed by the sound of breaking china. "You are a spiteful, vindictive poltergeist," she said fiercely into the darkness, "and our friendship is at an end."

Edmond's shadow shrank from the walls to reveal his pale countenance. It bore the distaste of his own act. He reached out a hand. "I cannot bear this discord. I only seek to..."

The sound of the front door opening halted Edmond's words. Before he could react, Annie sped past him to the living room to see Logan standing inside the door with gun drawn. She rushed to him, fell into his arms, drawing comfort from the feel of his strong body.

"Annie, what the hell is going on?"

She turned to look for Edmond. "He's in the kitchen doorway. Can you see him?"

"No."

"He's afraid of you!" Annie said in realization.

Buoyed with the knowledge, she pushed from Logan's arms to face Edmond bearing down on her. "Go from this house, Mr. Wilde."

Edmond's eyes glistened as he stared past her to Logan. A tentacle of shadow extended from his pale face to brush Logan's chest.

"You cannot intimidate him, sir, for he does not fear you."

"No man is without fear," Edmond snarled. "No man."

"You will go from this house and you will not return unless invited. Do you understand?"

Her order—her rejection of him delivered in Logan's presence would surely heap more punishment on her precious belongings but to her immense relief, he stood quite still, looking at her as though weighing the strength of her demand.

"Do you understand, Mr. Wilde?"

"Very well," he said with a small bow of his head, "I will leave you. And when your lover betrays you just as Armacost did, you will welcome my return."

"That will never happen, Mr. Wilde. Go!"

Annie held her breath as Edmond's ghostly form began to dissipate. Only when she could no longer sense him in the house did she dare to relax.

"He's gone," she said, walking to the sofa to sink down, cold and exhausted and in need of Logan's warmth.

He sat beside her—rigid and implacable. Annie felt the cold penetration of his anger.

"Why in hell didn't you stay put?"

"I had to confront him."

"You know I could charge you with felony theft of a police vehicle?"

Looking into Logan's furious eyes, Annie realized he was quite serious in his threat.

"Did you get a cab?" she asked weakly.

He shook his head. "I had one of the uniforms drop me off. God knows what he thought."

"I was scared you'd be angry."

"Damned right I'm angry." He looked at her sharply. "I'm not that scary, am I?"

She relaxed into the cushions to take in the sight of broken down jeans, faded black tee and ratty trainers. No, he wasn't scary. Just deliciously scruffy.

"Actually, you are to Edmond. Poltergeists feed on their victim's fear for energy. But you're not the least afraid of him are you?"

"He pisses me off," Logan said grimly. "But you're right. I have a high fear threshold."

"That must be useful in your work?"

"Don't try and change the subject, young lady." He stood and pulled her upright, snaring her around the waist. "And you're coming to my place right now."

Annie normally didn't appreciate being told what to do, but when Logan took charge, her body liked it very much.

"For breakfast?"

"If you behave."

"I need you to kiss me."

"This doesn't mean I'm okay with what you did," he rumbled against her mouth.

"Okay, now I'm good," she sighed, smiling sweetly up at him. "I'll need to change first."

She took the stairs two at a time. Not ladylike for the mistress of the town's grandest old house but the day was slipping away and frankly, she was hungry. Changing into shorts, tank top and flip flops, she went downstairs to find Logan in the kitchen gathering up the broken china.

"This looks old," he said, examining a piece of the teapot. "The spook's handiwork?"

"Yes. He was showing off. I'll clean it up later." As much as she hated to leave the place untidy, she lacked the heart to face Edmond's destruction.

Logan collected both sets of keys at the front door and locked up. "Perhaps I should arrest you after all," he said, putting her keys in her hand. "You damned well deserve it."

"Aren't you supposed to frisk me or something, Detective?" Annie asked him with innocent eyes.

His grin was a little more lopsided than usual. "I'll get to that later."

As he opened the passenger door and waved her in, Annie said, "you know you can't shoot a spirit, don't you?"

"I intended to arrest the bastard, not shoot him."

Annie smiled her happiness. Oh, Sunday...wonderful Sunday.

A day for lovers.
Seven

"Fuck summer."

Logan, about to bite into a raspberry doughnut, looked up at the sight filling the doorway to his office. Jock Tully had the appearance of a man whose body constantly struggled under its own weight and never more so than on one of Erradale Bay's sweltering July afternoons.

Grudgingly, Logan set his lunch aside and gestured at the chair opposite his desk. It was after three, he'd functioned without food for most of the day and Tully was in his office on some matter that apparently couldn't wait. Barring emergencies, the sergeant rarely stepped outside the air-conditioned duty room on a hot day.

"Take a load off."

"Why the hell don't you get aircon in here?" Tully grumbled as he guided his bulk down between the arms of the visitor's chair. He dragged a tatty rag from a pocket and mopped his brow. "Good weekend, Detective?"

"So-so. You?"

"Nothing special?" He eyed the doughnut with undisguised avarice. "Is that from the café next door?"

"Uh-huh."

Logan sat back and waited while Tully rehoused the rag and made himself comfortable. At fifty-seven years and forty pounds above a healthy BMI, the guy had to be overdue for a coronary. It hadn't worried him into a diet. Or slowed him down for that matter. Behind the poundage was a surprisingly agile, tough sergeant who rarely needed to put his bear-like strength to work. Tully was well respected by the town's criminals and troublemakers. His piercing gray eyes could will the truth out of a miscreant at thirty feet.

Logan felt that stare now. "What's on your mind, Sergeant?"

"In a word, Oak Lane."

"That's two."

"You've been sniffing around there."

Damn Tully for poking his nose in. It was generally accepted around the station that Tully saw Erradale as his town and therefore had a right to know everything that went on. Logan usually didn't mind. The guy was a walking encyclopedia when it came to local gossip. He was also good company. Logan had spent an entire Sunday on Tully's front porch, working his way through pint glasses of his lethal home brew. They'd chewed over the big topics: lagers or malts; the World Series; women. A marathon drinking session that had given Logan a two day hangover. Tully, who had the constitution of an ox, was unaffected. He'd suggested Logan try a 'hair of the dog' cure from the same batch but Logan had passed on that.

"What's your point, Sergeant?"

"The dinner at the Pelican."

"Not up for discussion," Logan returned coolly. How the guy had managed to glean that nugget so soon was anyone's guess but it didn't surprise him.

Tully crossed a set of thick arms and chuckled. "Don't get sore. You know what the chief's gonna ask when he finds out."

"And what would that be?"

"Why you're involved with Arianna Harte."

"One dinner isn't involvement."

"It's me you're talking to, Gauge. He'll boil your ass over this."

"Park it," Logan said testily. "This is my business."

"Look Gauge," Tully said, uncrossing his arms to lean forward, "the chief might think you walk on fucking water but he won't overlook this. You two were seen all hot and heavy outside the restaurant. That's involvement in anyone's book. Did you bang her?"

"Jesus Christ."

Tully flapped a hand in the air, grinning. "Just asking. Anyway, did the lovely Ms. Harte tell you who made that ice thing?"

It was generally unwise to confide in Tully, the exception being when the so-called confidence was intended for public release. "No," Logan said. "But on the subject. What do you know about her house?"

"Such as?"

"Any peculiar events when Emmaline Calloway lived there?"

"You taking history lessons now?" Tully asked suspiciously.

"Any talk around town?"

"Like what?"

Logan was fast becoming irritated. "Was there anything in particular that turned the old girl into a hermit?"

"No idea." He nodded at the doughnut. "You gonna eat that?"

"Go ahead."

Tully pounced.

"Any visitors there?"

"Dunno," Tully answered through a mouthful of dough. "Why the interest?"

"Just curious."

"There would've been visitors when she was young," Tully said, wiping jam from his chin. "As I say, the neighbors tried to make contact over the years. Probably pissed that the place devalued the street. They must love Arianna Harte. She's cleaned the place up real good." He winked at Logan. "But you'd know all about that."

Logan ignored the insinuation. "The kid who delivered the groceries. Did he ever go inside?"

"How the hell should I know? What's her bedroom like?"

"Fuck off, Sergeant," Logan snapped, annoyed at himself for taking the bait.

The last of the doughnut had just found Tully's mouth when a small knock against the door pulled Logan to his feet. His ex-wife stood in the doorway, staring at the obese sergeant.

"What the hell...?" Logan said, unable to check the surprise in his voice.

"Good afternoon, Officers," she said, her eyes on Tully struggling out of his chair.

"Who...?" Tully began.

"That's all for now, Sergeant," Logan cut in, striding to the door. "You can go."

With a glare at Logan for pulling rank, Tully stomped out. Logan listened for the slam of the duty room door before swinging his own door closed.

"If that's Erradale's finest, I'm not impressed," she said, placing herself in the vacated chair.

Logan returned to his seat. As always she looked immaculate. Platinum blonde, bronzed and L.A. reed thin. In a figure-hugging dress that perfectly matched her blue eyes, she'd have turned every head in the station on her way to his office. He'd always liked the white blonde look—a California beach thing, he supposed. Now he was more interested in the natural ones, particularly the one he'd reluctantly dropped off at her house late last night.

"This is unexpected," Logan said with an easiness he didn't feel. "I thought you'd be busy with your new business venture. Jewelry design, isn't it?"

"It didn't work out. Daddy paid the creditors, closed the store."

Barnabas J. Fremont, the wealthy, over-indulgent single parent. Apart from that particular stupidity, B.J. was a decent enough guy.

"So why the visit?" Logan asked casually.

She crossed a leg, the act pushing her short dress further up her thigh. "Aren't you pleased to see me?"

"Why are you here, Nicole?" Her name sounded unnatural on his lips. Perhaps it was because he hadn't said it since his arrival in Erradale.

"To talk about us."

"Jesus," Logan said wearily, "we've been over this a thousand times."

"It's not too late."

This was hardly the time or place for one of her histrionic outbursts on their failed marriage but he might as well find the reason for her visit before kicking her out.

"Is there something specific you want to discuss?"

"Other than the fact you haven't been in touch?"

Logan's jaw muscles bunched under the effort of maintaining civility. "We have nothing to say to each other."

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," she said passive-aggressively. "You always did neglect me."

"You were never neglected," Logan answered evenly. "Every detective faces heavy caseloads, long hours and periods away from home. You knew that before we were married and you said you were fine with it."

"I was lonely. You made me lonely."

Since the divorce, Logan had tried to suppress the memory of his life with Nicole. He'd almost succeeded. Looking at her now, sitting in his office like nothing had ever happened, it all came flooding back, as raw as the day he'd first set eyes on her.

Strange that he couldn't remember who'd invited him to that pool party almost four years ago. His date had called in sick so he'd gone alone. Within seconds of arrival, he'd spotted her. In a white bikini and skyscraper heels, she'd looked like something out of a beach-babe calendar and like a heat-seeking missile, he'd headed straight for her. Every guy at the party had wanted her but he'd been the one to take her home for the night. From then on, he couldn't get enough of her. He'd had more than his fair share of women and wasn't the type to mistake a great lay for love, but at twenty-six and ready for commitment, he'd done just that. Within five months, they'd married.

Nicole's whining voice pierced his thoughts.

"I need you, Logan."

"Like Alan needed his family," Logan answered bitterly.

"It just happened."

A sickening lie. Alan Hager's seduction had been planned and executed with military precision.

"He came after me," she said as if she'd read his thoughts. She stood and sidled around the desk to stand in front of his knees, her gaze on his crotch. "I miss you, big man."

Logan shoved angrily to his feet. "I want you out."

Her eyes rounded in bewilderment and Logan almost laughed at the emptiness of her.

"Why do you insist on blaming me for what happened?"

"Get out, Nicole."

"But I have news," she said with a sly smile. As always, it failed to warm the icy blue.

"What news?"

She ran a scarlet nail down his chest. "Buy me a drink and I'll tell you."

Logan's body cooled at the contact. "I don't bargain. I told you to leave and I meant it."

"At least a coffee," she said, and Logan knew with hope-puncturing certainty that Nicole wasn't going anywhere until she'd said her piece.

"Ten minutes." He strode around her and flung open the door. "Not a minute more."

With a toss of her head, she sauntered past him into the passage. "I knew you'd see sense."

Logan gritted his teeth as he followed her along the passage, not missing the deliberate hip-sway that could pull a man's gaze to her perfect butt like iron to a magnet.

"Back in ten," he snarled in the direction of the duty uniforms gawping at Nicole from the front desk.

The Caffeine Fix café, one street back from main, was within a dozen strides of the station. Logan steered Nicole inside, barked an order for cappuccino, and walked her to a table at the back.

"The clock's running. What's your news?" he said, taking a seat.

She sat down opposite him, taking time to answer. "I've bought an apartment in New York."

"What the hell for?"

"So we can be together. I love you, Logan."

The words churned his gut.

"I made a mistake with Alan," she went on carelessly, generating more nausea, "but I've changed."

"Into what?" he asked roughly.

"I never wanted the divorce, you know that."

Yeah, he knew. Nicole had fought it every step of the way, her expensive lawyers filing one continuance after another, everything from possible reconciliation to endless property settlement meetings. Logan didn't want a cent from her but it was never about the money. It was driven by her savage desire to keep him at any cost. His move to Erradale had meant a major drop in rank and pay grade but he saw it as his penance for Alan.

"You can take a job at Daddy's New York office. It'll be a fresh start for us, darling."

Logan was all out of civility. "There is no fucking us!"

Her mouth tightened in anger. "I was your wife, remember?"

"The operative word being 'was.' I don't care where you live or what you do. There will never be anything between us, friendship or otherwise."

"Don't think you can throw me away, you bastard."

Her words came at him like daggers.

"Nicole, you threw yourself away long ago." He took out his wallet and was half on his feet when a familiar voice put him back in his chair.

"Logan."

Turning, his heart sank at the sight of Tessa Cullen coming toward them.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Tessa said and before he could answer, most likely because she knew she had, plunked down in the chair next to him. Her pungent perfume, the same one from Annie's store, saturated the air between them. She wore the same sprayed-on jeans as well, but today the streak in her bangs was bright pink to match a shirt which was well and truly unbuttoned past modest.

"It's so hot today, isn't it?" she said, setting her phone and purse on the table. She stared at Nicole expectantly.

"This is Tessa Cullen," Logan said without enthusiasm. "Ms. Cullen is one of our locals."

"Logan is so formal in company," Tessa giggled, placing a hand on his thigh. "So how long have you known Erradale's hottest man?"

"I'm his wife and how in hell do you know him?" Nicole answered seamlessly.

Tessa blinked at the bluntness. "I...actually we met through a mutual friend." She looked along her eyes at Logan. "You sly man, not telling me you were married."

"I'm not," Logan snapped. The clarification was superfluous. In Tessa's limited mind, there was only one conclusion to be drawn.

"Are you enjoying Erradale...sorry...what's your name?" Tessa asked with another sidelong glance at Logan.

"Nicole, but it's Mrs. Gauge to you," Nicole answered in a tone that could shear ice.

"Oh...right...well, you must have missed Logan being away. Perhaps your husband...sorry, ex-husband could take you to the Pelican for dinner. It's very romantic, isn't it Logan?"

Nicole's upper lip curled. "I doubt this town does fine cuisine."

"Then perhaps a freshen up at the Cut and Dried while you're here. I'm senior stylist."

Logan had to hand it to Tessa. She didn't quit.

"My God Logan, how do you stand this...this cheap hairdresser?"

Tessa's mouth fell open but nothing came out.

While he didn't give a rat's behind that each thought he was doing the other, he'd had enough of the spectacle. He tabled a ten for the coffee and stood. "I have to get back."

"I guess you'll be around Erradale from now on, Mrs. Gauge," Tessa said as Nicole glided to her feet.

"I doubt it. We'll be moving to New York."

The waitress arrived with the cappuccino. "Ms. Cullen might like it," Logan growled, watching Tessa pick up her phone.

"Catch you later, Logan," she said without looking up.

He followed Nicole out.

"I suppose you have to take what you can get around here," Nicole said when they were back on the sidewalk, "but to be fucking that trash."

Logan looked at her for several seconds, trying to process the crudeness. "Goodbye, Nicole."

"This will never be over, Logan," he heard her say as he strode to the station's entrance.

Time and distance had not lessened Nicole's obsession with him. It would have to be faced but right now there was something more pressing on his mind.

Tessa Cullen's text to Annie.
Eight

Visitors could be forgiven for thinking they had taken a wrong turn and were at an exclusive country club instead of a home for the elderly infirmed. The Millwood Rest Home stood at the end of a winding tree-lined drive, an hour south of Erradale Bay. The four-storied red brick building, topped with dormers edged in white, sat in sweeping lawns that stretched down to a small golden beach. Annie thought the place charming.

"Can I help you, dear?" asked a middle-aged woman at the reception counter. Her name badge said 'Mrs. Black.' Annie surmised that Mrs. Black always referred to young women as 'dear.'

"I called about Emmaline Calloway."

"Oh yes, you must be Miss Harte. Are you a relative or a friend?"

"Actually, I'm neither. I bought her house and would like to know more of its history."

Mrs. Black gave Annie a questioning look. "Miss Calloway never has visitors. Are you aware she has dementia and may not remember the house?"

"She lived there for eighty-nine years so I'm hoping she'll remember something."

"Perhaps," said Mrs. Black doubtfully. "Miss Emmaline came to us very frail and really quite lost. No contact with the outside world since she was a girl. A sad situation indeed."

"Do you know the circumstances around her coming to the home?"

"Naturally my dear," Mrs. Black answered with a sniff. "Her neighbors contacted the authorities, although why they hadn't done it years ago is a mystery. It's really a miracle she didn't die in that house, being alone like that. You know, she'll be a hundred next year?"

"Yes, I do have some information about her. She was part of a prominent local family."

"Well naturally Miss Emmaline has breeding, even if I do say so myself." Mrs. Black bent forward to peer at Annie's cargo pants and crop top. "And considerable means."

"I wouldn't know about that," Annie answered quickly, wondering if she were being suspected of something sinister. "Her house was quite run down when I bought it. I've made a few changes. Installed new plumbing and electricity and planted a garden. I've taken some photos of the house for Ms. Calloway to look at. It might help her remember."

Mrs. Black shrugged as if given more information than needed. "Quite. Now if you would sign the visitors' book."

While Annie filled in her details, Mrs. Black pressed a buzzer on the counter and through a doorway from behind, a sweet-faced girl in a white smock emerged.

"Jenny dear, would you be so kind as to take Miss Harte to Miss Emmaline. I believe she's in the grounds. And come back at once. Dear old Mrs. Cameron would like you to read to her."

"Yes, Mrs. Black." Jenny gestured toward a passage next to Reception. "If you'll come this way, Ms. Harte."

Annie followed Jenny down a passage to the rear of the building. Surprisingly, she did not encounter a single spirit. Death would be a routine occurrence in a home for the elderly infirmed but apparently Millwood's departed were content—perhaps pleased—to escape their rather sterile environment.

"Miss Emmaline is over there," Jenny said, pointing toward the ocean, "under the maple next to the gazebo."

Annie squinted in the bright sunlight. "Yes, I see her. I hope she doesn't mind being disturbed."

"She won't mind. Good luck."

Jenny disappeared into the building, leaving Annie to make her way across the expanse of lawn. The heat had every shade tree occupied by residents, many in wheelchairs and all under the supervision of nursing staff.

Emmaline Calloway sat on a stone bench, facing the ocean. A male attendant sat beside her.

"I'm Annie Harte. I've come to visit Miss Emmaline," she said as the attendant rose. He looked young, around nineteen or twenty, and pleasingly neat in his crisp white uniform.

"I'm Josh," he said, smiling. "You're lucky, she's talking today." He pointed at a group of residents under a nearby tree. "I'll be over there if you need me."

"Thank you." Annie had the impression he was pleased to escape.

She sat down and waited for the old lady to register her presence. In a blue cotton dress that hung like a small tent over her thin frame, Emmaline looked extremely fragile. Her wispy white hair, cut very short, probably for easy maintenance, barely covered her pink scalp. Her face had the appearance of smooth, pale marble and her tightly clasped hands were paler still, the veins across the backs a network of blue threads. She looked so utterly lost in herself, Annie wanted to take the thin hands in her own but she worried the contact might startle the old woman. Instead, she coughed lightly to gain her attention.

Emmaline turned her head to the sound and Annie was immediately struck by her beauty. A delicate heart-shaped face and faded green eyes might have been the same color as hers at one time.

"My name is Annie Harte, Miss Emmaline. I bought your house in Erradale Bay."

Emmaline returned her gaze to the ocean.

"Do you remember your house on Oak Lane?" Annie asked gently.

"Beth."

"I'm Annie."

"Beth."

"Who is Beth?"

She looked at Annie inquiringly. "You know Beth?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know her."

"Gone now."

"Was she a relative?"

Emmaline's head dropped a little.

"Perhaps a friend?" Annie pressed.

"The well."

Annie found a photo of the well on her phone and held it up for Emmaline to see. "Is this the well you mean?"

Emmaline's eyes flickered over the image.

"I've planted lavenders around it," Annie continued. "It looks very pretty."

There was no answer so Annie sat quietly, thinking of how to broach the subject of Edmond. As a sensitive, Emmaline would frequently encounter spirits in the rest home but to mention Edmond, someone she'd known for so long, could cause distress.

"Your parents, Miss Emmaline...Charles and Frances...can you tell me about them?"

"He loves to dance." Her voice was soft and shy now.

"Your father, Charles Calloway?"

"So elegant."

"Did you dance in the house?"

"All gone."

Opening Emmaline's mind was like trying to unlock a safe without the combination.

Annie looked down while she thought about her next question. Emmaline's hands were now flat on her knees and on the third finger of her left hand, a ruby ring sparkled in the dappled sunlight.

She placed her hand over Emmaline's. Immediately, Annie was aware of a psychic connection between them and while it did not give her insight into Emmaline's thoughts, it conveyed to Annie the remarkable power of the old lady's gift.

"What was your fiancé's name, Miss Emmaline?"

A soft smile crept across the ancient features. "How handsome you look, Thomas."

Annie tried to keep her voice calm despite her rising excitement. "Tell me about Thomas?"

"Do you like my pretty dress?"

"Where is Thomas, Miss Emmaline?"

"How I wish Mother could have known you."

"Are you alone in the house?" Annie asked gently.

Emmaline put a hand to her mouth to suppress a giggle. "I like it when you carry me up the stairs?"

Good gracious, they were lovers, probably in the very room where she and Logan had made love.

Annie's voice trembled a little when she asked her next question. "Is there someone with you and Thomas?"

"Violets."

"Did Thomas bring you violets?"

Emmaline smiled and looked down at the ring.

Annie came to a decision. "Miss Emmaline, I know you talked to Edmond Wilde."

At the words, Emmaline's head snapped up and Annie saw something unexpected. An intelligence in the faded eyes. The safe door had opened.

"You see him?!" Emmaline asked, her eyes rounding in shock.

"Yes, like you, I'm a sensitive."

"Then you must leave the house at once!" Emmaline exclaimed with surprising force. "Edmond is dangerous."

The change in Emmaline reminded Annie of a film she'd seen about patients waking after decades of catatonia. "I need your help to make him go, Miss Emmaline."

Emmaline pulled her hand from Annie's and began to rub frantically at the ruby. "No, no, he is too strong. You must not trust him!"

"What did he do, Miss Emmaline? Did something happen to Thomas?"

Emmaline made fists of her hands and drummed them on her knees. "I tried to explain to Edmond that I loved Thomas."

"What did Edmond do?"

"He was on the stairs."

"Where was Thomas?"

Her voice sank to an agonized whisper. "Coming up the stairs. We were to be married that day."

"What happened, Emmaline?"

"Taken."

"Did Thomas die?"

Then, to Annie's alarm, Emmaline began to wail. She slumped forward and Annie caught her in her arms, drawing the feeble, trembling body close.

Annie rocked her gently. "You're safe here," she said. "He cannot harm you."

Josh arrived. "It's okay, Ms. Harte. She gets like this from time to time. It's like she has nightmares but she's awake."

"Does she ever talk about spirits?"

"Oh yeah, all the time. Reckons she sees them."

"Would you mind if I asked her one last thing?"

"As long as it doesn't set her off again," Josh said doubtfully.

"Miss Emmaline, do you know how Edmond died?"

Emmaline did not answer. She had slipped back to that dark place again, like the patients in the movie.

"It might be best if you leave now," Josh said. "She won't talk again today."

"Has she ever spoken of Edmond Wilde?"

"Can't say it rings a bell. She sometimes talks about Beth."

"Yes, she mentioned her. What about Thomas, her fiancé?"

He shook his head. "Don't remember him."

"Would any of the other staff know?"

"I doubt it, but I'll ask around. Miss Emmaline, we're going back to the house now," Josh said, guiding her to her feet. "Say goodbye to Ms. Harte."

There was no goodbye.

Annie gave Josh her business card. "If she should ask for me or if anything happens, will you call me?"

"Will do." He walked Emmaline slowly across the lawn to the main building.

Annie sat for a while, her mind busy, her heart heavy. While she knew little about insanity or senility, she was positive it was neither of those that had caused this sweet woman to disappear into herself all those years ago. She could not give Emmaline back her lost years but she could help her to wake up.

***

The loud chime of his doorbell pulled Logan from his sleep.

Squinting against the orange sunset flooding the living room, he rolled off the sofa and padded into the passage, pissed that Nicole had gotten his address and was here for round two. Yanking open the front door, he found Annie on his doorstep, looking her usual cool, calm, collected self.

"We have another murder to investigate?" she announced.

"Mind if I use the bathroom first?"

She smiled then. "I have so much to tell you."

Without waiting for a response, she stepped past him and headed for the living room. Logan followed her, his eyes glued to her ass. In low-riding cargo pants and short sun top she made a sight for sore eyes. No heels today. Just flat, sensible looking sandals. Her hair was in a tousled updo and when she turned to face him, he saw she wore no make-up. She looked fresh and beautiful.

"I tried to call you but your phone was on voicemail all day," he said, watching her pick up a cushion from the floor and arrange it in a corner of the sofa.

"Yes, I've been away. Bernadette, who owns The Fussy Florist two down from me, got her assistant to mind the store."

Logan stifled a yawn. "Have you eaten?"

"No. Was it something important...your call?"

"It can wait. How about dinner?"

"I can fix something if you like."

"I got it." He kissed the top of her head. "Let me clean up first."

"Right," she said, looking around as though he were talking about the living room.

He jerked a thumb toward the passage. "I'll be in the shower if you need me."

He hoped she might suggest joining him but she began to tidy the living room.

Ten minutes later, showered and feeling whole again in baggy shorts and tee, he found Annie in the kitchen, stacking his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher.

"So what's your news?" he asked, taking a bottle of his favorite Pinot from the wine rack and glasses from the shelf above.

"Emmaline isn't mad but she doesn't realize it."

In the short time he'd known Annie, Logan had already concluded that her conversations were akin to entering a hedge maze. A man never knew where he was headed.

He checked her glass for dust and poured the wine. "Can someone act mad without realizing they're not?"

"I guess," she said after a brief reflection. "Anyway, I went to visit her this afternoon."

She closed the dishwasher and, leaning against the countertop, began to fiddle with a stray lock of hair. Logan left her to her musings while he studied the contents of the freezer. Last night he'd had pizza delivered after he and Annie had spent most of the day in bed. He'd never had such a good Sunday. Tonight, he'd cook. He only had man-food. Steak, burgers, lamb chops and...more steak. He decided on sirloin steak with potatoes. Hopefully, she had nothing against red meat.

"Steak and potatoes okay?"

"Fine," she said, sliding onto a bar stool to watch him put the steaks in the microwave and set defrost.

"Are you sure I can't help?" she asked, looking at him doubtfully.

"Oh ye of little faith."

She smiled and sipped her wine while he chopped garlic and made a marinade of olive oil, soya sauce and honey.

"She had a fiancé named Thomas but he died," Annie said, setting her glass down to fiddle with her hair again.

"Does Thomas have a last name?"

"Obviously," she said with a patient sigh, "but I don't know what it is."

He grinned. "Duly noted. Go on."

"They were to be married the day he died. She still wears her engagement ring."

Logan took three large potatoes from the vegetable bin. "Boiled or baked?"

"Boiled. Emmaline's mother died in 1938 when Emmaline was twenty. So it must have been around then that she met Thomas. He died in the house or at least I think he did."

Logan put the potatoes on to cook. "What happened?"

"Thomas was going up the stairs. Edmond was there."

"You think the spook killed Thomas?"

"Perhaps."

"What did Emmaline say?"

"She didn't say anything. She began to cry."

Logan retrieved the steaks from the microwave and coated each with marinade. "Perhaps the fiancé got cold feet and Emmaline gave him a shove."

She snorted at his suggestion. "Oh no, not the way she talked about him."

"Homicide cases always begin with investigating the nearest and dearest."

"No," she said decisively, "Emmaline wouldn't have done that. It had to be Edmond. I need you to check your police files?"

"Police don't investigate murder by ghost."

She wrinkled her nose at his joke so Logan leaned over the counter and brushed a finger along her cheek. "I'll ask around but don't hold your breath."

"She also mentioned someone called Beth and the well at the back of the house."

"Maybe Thomas and Beth are in the well."

"Be serious," she scolded with a giggle. "The interesting thing was...as soon as I mentioned Edmond, Emmaline kind of woke up. She remembers everything about him. She must know how he died."

Logan topped up her glass. "If your ghost killed Thomas what's-his-name and the unknown Beth, then it's definitely not safe for you to be in that house."

"Oh, it's quite safe," she said airily. "Edmond won't come back unless I invite him."

"What if he doesn't wait for an invitation?"

"I can handle him."

Logan sighed at her unwavering confidence. "Yeah, but let's face it, you were scared stiff the other night."

"And you were magnificent," she told him from under her lashes.

He grinned. "Just doing my job."

She cupped her chin in her hands. "What've you been doing today?"

He had intended to tell her about Nicole after dinner. Now he just wanted it out of the way.

"Annie, there's something I have to tell you."

"Something deliciously mysterious I hope."

"You may have heard my ex-wife is in town."

She lifted her chin from her hands. "Yes, Tessa texted me."

"You need to know about her. What she's like."

Sliding off the stool, she pressed against him. "Let's make love."

He tried to ease her back but she reached up and wound her arms around his neck, trying to pull him down to her mouth.

"Listen to me, Annie. It's important."

"Not now," she said, on her toes, kissing his chin.

He should stop this, make her listen. Instead he kissed her, feeling his T-shirt being dragged up and warm fingers sliding around his waist. He curved his hands over her butt, lifting her hips to his.

"I'll turn off the stove," he said, when they finally broke apart. "You need anything?"

"No," she said, leaving him.

He found her sitting on the edge of his bed, removing the clips from her hair.

"I am going to tell you, Annie," he said, sitting beside her.

"I know."

She stood and unbuttoned her sun top, slipped it from her shoulders and laid it on the bed. Her sandals came off next, followed by her cargo pants and white hipster panties. She carefully folded each item of clothing and set them on the chair by the door, placing her sandals on the floor beneath. Then with a small sigh, she lay down on the bed.

It was a performance devoid of tease or affectation and Logan was reminded again of her contradictions. Playful one minute, all sexy business the next. Every time with Annie was a voyage of discovery.

He shucked off his clothing and joined her on the bed. She attached herself to him like a soft, warm limpet.

"Perhaps it can wait," he said into her hair.

She lifted her face to his. "I think that would be best."
Nine

Annie heard Logan's heavy tread in the passage. He appeared in the bedroom doorway, back in his shorts and balancing a pizza box on one hand and holding two cans of soda in the other.

"I got the works," he said, setting the box on the end of the bed and the drinks on the nightstand.

Annie scooted across the bed. "Lots of cheese, I hope."

"My steaks gone to waste."

"You've been busy with other things."

She picked up a pizza slice and held it out to him. He shook his head and lay back.

Nicole.

All through their lovemaking, the name had hung in the air like one of Annie's unwelcome spirits—there but unacknowledged. The silly thing was she didn't need him to explain Nicole. She might know very little about his relationship with his ex-wife but Annie knew his character. He was strong and good and sure. Tessa had got it wrong. It was time to clear the air on the matter.

Annie tossed the pizza box on the floor.

"What the hell, woman."

"Listen to me, Logan Gauge," she said clambering on top of him. "I'm going to make love to you. And when I've satisfied us both, you're going to tell me about Nicole."

"You don't need to do this..."

She pressed a finger to his lips. "No talking until we're finished."

He looked at her with soft eyes. "If I live to be a hundred, I'll never figure you out, Ms. Harte."

"Don't try, Detective."

Laying herself along his body, she kissed him, pushing his hands away when he reached for her.

"No touching either."

He sighed. "Right."

Sitting up, she undid his shorts, taking him in her hands, loving the feel of him. He was a big man in every way. Wonderfully, perfectly, painfully big. She could have him right now but before that could happen, he must pay total attention. Forget everything but their lovemaking. So she touched him carefully, trailing a finger down the thick length, enjoying his little shudders.

"You're very hard."

He lifted his head to watch her wrap him in her hands. "And you're very good at this."

"That wasn't an invitation to speak," she chided. "But you can watch."

Sliding down his body, Annie took him in her mouth, or at least as much of him as she could manage. Holding him steady in her hands, she relaxed into an easy rhythm, waiting for the inevitable jerk of his hips that would tell her he was close to climax.

When she felt the first tremble, she raised her head. He sucked a breath in protest but Annie took her time, sprinkling little kisses down the glistening shaft before enclosing him again. Pumping him with her hand, she took more, worked him to the brink, then withdrew. Logan groaned. Yes, her teasing was tempting fate. At any moment, he might fling her on her back and take her in sheer frustration. As delicious as the thought was, she couldn't allow that. Not yet.

"You like?" she purred over him.

"I thought you wanted me quiet," he rasped back at her.

"So I did."

She licked him from top to bottom, then sat straight to straddle his thighs. "Protection please."

Logan blinked dazedly. Leaning across the bed, he retrieved a condom from the nightstand drawer and, all thumbs, tried to rip the wrapper.

She took it from him. "My job."

Annie sheathed him slowly. Very slowly.

"Sweet Jesus," he groaned.

"You're talking again."

Positioning herself directly above him, she held still. He raised his hips, trying to insert himself into her body but she stayed just out of reach.

"Don't move."

"Why the hell not?"

"More talk."

Annie slowly lowered herself onto the thick column, pausing at every inch until she could comfortably take another. When she was fully seated, she held still.

Logan lifted his head. "Everything okay?"

"Quite okay thank you."

He blew a breath and fell back against the pillow.

Annie swept her hands over his broad chest, his heavy biceps and, leaning forward, rested her hands on his shoulders. Then she moved—small, shallow movements that had Logan arching, seeking depth.

"Not yet," she said, withdrawing completely before settling herself back down. Adjusting her hips to angle him against her clit, she began to pump. He wasn't supposed to touch, but when he held her breasts in his big hands all she could do was acquiesce to the added stimulation. She worked faster, her body heating under the potent mix of slickness and friction.

He thumbed her nipples and Annie lost her rhythm.

Logan sat up. "Let me."

"No," she gasped, pushing him back.

Keeping her movements fast and tight, she found her stride again. Logan's hands were back on her breasts, intensifying the ache in her hard clit. Oh, she so needed to come. Digging her nails into his shoulders, Annie clamped her inner muscles and rode his heat. Finally she was there—gasping, squeezing her way over the finish line. She had barely slowed when Logan was upright and had her face snared in his hands.

"God, you're beautiful to watch."

"You haven't come," Annie said worriedly.

"Put your legs around me."

"But I'm supposed to satisfy you," she protested.

His gaze was pure heat. "You will. Legs."

Annie locked her ankles behind his waist. His hands went under her butt and he swung around to sit on the edge of the bed and, with one hand, he lifted her clear. His other hand brushed her sex. Annie held her breath in delighted anticipation. Her first orgasm had been work but she had a feeling Logan was about to give her the experience of her life.

A finger explored her opening before sliding inside. A thumb pressed her clit. Slowly and rhythmically, finger and thumb stroked and circled, then stopped. Withdrew.

Annie squirmed in frustration.

"No moving," he ordered.

"But I have to move."

"No talking either."

He looked so severe, Annie didn't dare complain at his torturous payback.

With a grunt, Logan sat her on him, holding her still when she tried to wriggle for more. Finally, after an eternity, he moved, not slowly and teasingly as she had expected, but hard and demanding. Annie gasped under the exquisite assault. This was Logan in charge—powerful, prime male demanding she pay attention.

Leaning forward and curling her arms around his neck, she rested her face in his shoulder and fell into the pleasure of Logan taking possession of her body.

There was no talk, only the sound of Logan's hard breathing as he worked. And he was all work, muscles rippling as he took her like a man seeking more than the relief of a climax. As much as she loved his beautiful strength, Annie knew his raw, desperate act was driven by anger at Nicole.

Lifting her head to read his expression, Annie saw an unexpected tenderness in his eyes. An affection that belied every one of his uncompromising thrusts into her body.

"Logan," she whispered, confused.

He kissed her, pressing his tongue to hers to still her words.

His mouth was still on hers when he intensified his thrusts and she felt the throb of him coming deep inside her body. He moaned her name, the sound delivering Annie to ecstasy. The first blissful contractions hit hard. Locked her. He thrust into her again and when she saw his face grimaced in his seemingly endless release, her body responded with more joyous waves. She was coming again and again with barely a pause between. Annie whimpered and sobbed her delight and dug her fingernails into his back as he took her over the edge again.

Afterward, she clung to him, not moving, not speaking, not needing anything but the feel of her body holding him. When she finally stirred to look at his face, she found the tenderness of minutes ago had been replaced with hardness.

"Tell me everything, Logan."

He lifted her from his lap and lay back on the bed. Annie arranged herself in his arms. He held her lightly. Too lightly.

"What did Tessa tell you?" he asked eventually.

"That you and Nicole are having sex."

"Christ."

"She said Nicole isn't very nice."

"I'm picking she used something stronger than that."

"Yes."

He pulled his arm from under her, removed the condom and rolled off the bed. "How about we eat in the kitchen," he said, dragging on his shorts.

Without waiting for her answer, he took the pizza and disappeared into the passage. Annie slipped on one of his T-shirts and joined him in the kitchen. Logan had set out a plate and napkin for her and had a scotch poured for himself. She sat on her stool and waited.

"Nicole had an affair or at least that's what she intended," he said, staring into his glass.

"I'm so sorry."

"The man, Alan Hager, was a colleague. My closest friend since fourth grade. We did our police training together."

"Oh God, how could they...?"

He shook his head violently. "It's not what you think. Alan was a family man. His wife and two boys were his world. Nicole went after him." Logan gave a hard, humorless laugh. "Nicole is...well, she's good at what she does."

"What happened?"

"When Nicole and I began dating, Alan and Angela went all out to make her feel part of the friendship. The four of us spent every free weekend together. Dinners, movies, trips to the beach with the kids. But after the wedding, things changed. Nicole found excuses not to see them. Alan and I still hung out...went for the occasional beer, played golf, but it wasn't the same."

He drained his glass, filled it again.

"Then suddenly, for no apparent reason, Nicole wanted the four of us to get together like before. She started coming on to Alan when she thought they were alone. He never said a word to me. Probably too embarrassed and I just put it down to Nicole wanting attention. I had no idea it was part of a bigger plan. She worked on him for three months. They did it at a motel. Afterwards, Alan told her he couldn't cheat on his wife again but that one time was enough for Nicole's purposes. The next morning, she told the Captain. That was the day I left her."

"I don't understand. Why did she want to hurt him?"

"She didn't particularly. Alan was nothing more than collateral damage. I was the target. She wanted me to give up my career. In her twisted mind an affair with a fellow police officer, especially a close friend, would give me no choice but to quit. Except it was Alan who resigned that day."

Annie held her breath, knowing something terrible was about to be said.

"Alan's wife told him to go. A week later, he booked into that same motel room. Hanged himself."

The raw anger in Logan's voice was almost palpable. "At the funeral Angela told me she'd tried calling him the day he died. She wanted him to come home. His phone was off."

Annie slipped from her stool to go to him but he moved to the window.

"Afterward, I lost it. Some irony. Nicole wanted me to quit the force and she almost got her wish. The job meant nothing. It was just night after night of alcohol...and women. So many women, I couldn't tell you what they looked like, let alone their names."

Annie ached with pity for him. "Logan, you cannot blame yourself."

He looked at her bitterly. "Can't I? I put her in Alan's life. I didn't think she was capable of such callousness but how can anyone know another until it's too fucking late."

"Why did she want you to leave your job?"

He leaned back against the sill, his gaze distant, unobserving.

"A police psychologist who met her at a department function told me she has all the signs of a sociopathic obsession."

"With you?"

He nodded. "The day after we returned from the honeymoon, Nicole quit her job as an interior designer to stay at home. To look after me full time, she said. In public, she came across as the perfect partner for a police officer but privately she hated it. She wanted my time. All of it. When I'd call to say I'd be late home, she'd throw a tantrum, accusing me of having an affair. Then when I got home, she'd either scream or sulk. The scenes were always about the same thing. That I was using my job as an excuse to be away from her. To cheat on her. She even hired a private investigator to follow me." He barked a laugh. "The guy made a lousy tail. I was on to him within five minutes. Paid him for his time and told him to get lost. To Nicole, it proved I had something to hide."

"Go on."

"I tried to get her to therapy but she refused. I tried talking to her father. He said Nicole was just highly strung. That she'd had fixations on a couple of boys at high school and then some guy at college but those had passed. All she needed was a baby and she'd be fine."

"And her mother?"

"Died of a stroke when Nicole was fourteen."

"She wants you back, doesn't she?"

"As she sees it, we never parted."

"You loved each other once."

He closed his eyes and when they opened, Annie's heart contracted at the hatred in the brown depths.

"What we had wasn't love."

"Logan..."

"She doesn't know about you and it's to stay that way," he said roughly.

"Perhaps I could meet with her? Explain things?"

He strode to her, anger washing his features. "Stay away from her, Annie. I mean it!"

"If that is what you want, of course I will," Annie answered, shocked at his brutal tone.

"Good," he said, visibly relieved. "There's also Tessa."

"What's she got to do with it?" Annie demanded, then realized. "She flirted with you in front of Nicole, didn't she?"

"All but sat in my damned lap."

"Tessa is really a good person," Annie said a little desperately.

"Tell her to keep her distance."

Annie nodded. "She'll understand."

All the same, Annie doubted whether Tessa would understand let alone cooperate. Annie chased the thought away. Tessa's flirting meant nothing. She would stay away from Logan once she knew the reason. Of course she would.
Ten

The woman sitting alone at the bar smiled at him. Before Annie, he might have been tempted. Platinum blonde, leggy and from the sultry look, well-seasoned in the decadences of the one night stand.

Ignoring the invitation, Logan shifted his gaze to the country band. Wednesday night, ten-thirty and the Rocket was in full swing. On week nights the band usually packed up at eleven so it would be after midnight before the place emptied and he could go home.

Staking out bars wasn't his kind of job but John had wanted a non-uniform. A sixteen year old kid with a fake ID and a skinful of beer had been viciously mugged after leaving the Rocket two nights ago. The kid's scanty description of the perp was of a white male in his fifties, although the age could be wrong, given that teenagers were inclined to think anyone over thirty was old. Of the dozen or so fifty-somethings in the bar, only two were alone. One at a table in the far corner and the other, more interestingly, nursing a beer at the exit end of the bar.

Logan had hoped to spend the evening with Annie although there'd been little chance of that happening. She was painting the walls of her spare bedroom and, in her crisp, definitive fashion, had declined his offer to help. He'd distract her, she'd said, snorting disbelief when he insisted he would do no such thing. Logan couldn't help but wonder at how, within days, he'd become so comfortable with her. He'd never had such an easy rapport with a woman, not even with Nicole in those early, crazy days when he'd been head over heels. It had only ever been about the sex with Nicole and that had soon burned out under her relentless attention-seeking.

But Annie was something else. Smart and brave and direct. Definitely direct. And the most sensual woman he'd ever known. Even now, just the thought of her was enough to have him hungering for her body. Perhaps it was better that he was working tonight. No matter how tempting she was, he wasn't about to repeat his past mistake of going too fast. There was also the question of Nicole. He needed to deal with her before he could even consider taking the relationship with Annie further.

"What're you doing here, Gauge?"

Logan looked up to find Jock Tully staring down at him.

"I'm not looking for company, Sergeant."

Tully's eyes went to Logan's club soda. "You on a job?"

"Just keeping a quiet eye on the place. A kid was mugged after leaving the bar a couple of nights ago. The perp might try again if he thinks he got away with it."

"I could've handled it."

"Hardly. The whole town knows you're a cop," Logan noted dryly. Even in plaid shirt, gabardine pants and a hefty dose of Old Spice, Tully still managed to reek of law enforcement. The loner at the bar had already noticed him. "Besides, the chief wants this kept confidential. Parents' request."

Tully's face reddened at the insinuation. "I still could've handled it," he grumbled, then bellowed at a passing waitress, "brown ale, Joan."

Joan mock saluted and headed for the bar. Tully planted himself beside Logan. "Any leads?"

"The kid didn't get a good look at the perp but likely white male in his fifties. Probably won't try anything now that you're here," Logan said wearily, draining his glass.

Tully's gaze swept the room and landed on the woman at the bar. "Nice. Speaking of nice..."

"I presume you're about to talk about my ex-wife."

"Yeah," Tully chuckled. "I figured she was your ex. Still wearing her wedding ring."

"I hadn't noticed."

"She staying long?"

"No."

This morning, Logan had contacted the only hotel in Erradale, the Battersby, ostensibly on police business. Nicole had booked for two nights but checked out two hours after arrival. She hadn't mentioned her travel plans to the staff.

"Why the secret?"

"No reason other than it's ancient history."

"In other words mind my own fucking business?"

"I wish," Logan sighed, leaning back as Joan plunked a pint of ale on the table.

Tully took a long gulp, belched and massaged his paunch. "My brews are better than this stuff."

"Have you ever heard of a Thomas somebody-or-other in connection with Emmaline Calloway," Logan asked on an impulse.

Tully eyed him sharply. "You're poking Arianna Harte, aren't you?"

"Jesus, you can be a crude bastard at times, Sergeant. But yeah, I'm seeing her."

"I knew it. The chief know?"

"No."

"Well he won't hear it from me."

"Appreciated. So have you heard of this guy?"

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"Emmaline was engaged to him back in the thirties. Apparently he died in her house. Possibly fell down the stairs."

"An accident?"

"Could've been pushed."

"By Miss Emmaline?" Tully scoffed and then nodded. "I guess it makes sense. Explains why she went nuts. Where do you reckon the body is?"

"In the well at the back of the house," Logan joked.

"Well fuck me. Who'd have thought?"

"Are there any local police files from before the war?"

"Not seen any."

"What about the name Beth? Does that ring a bell?"

"Could be Beth Gillies. Lived in Cedar Street. Kicked the bucket years ago."

"Did she work for the Calloways?"

"No idea. Travelled a lot."

"Being wealthy, the Calloways would've had staff?"

"Oh yeah, before the war. But after her mother died, Miss Emmaline kicked the servants out and stayed on alone. You think Beth was there when the fiancé took a header?"

"Maybe. Something happened in that house."

"Fucking weird if you ask me. Take that ice for instance."

"Some idiot with a sense of humor."

Tully blew a belly laugh. "No way!"

"What other explanation is there?"

"None I guess." He yelled at Joan for a refill and began counting the change in his wallet.

While Tully was occupied with his finances, Logan checked the room again. The loner was still nursing his drink and the blonde had lassoed a cowboy. Her hand was on his thigh, an inch from his crotch.

Logan wished he could call it a night. He thought of Annie. She'd be in bed by now, soft and warm and in something...hell, what did she wear to bed when she wasn't in one of his T-shirts? No doubt it would be something practical. Pajamas? By God, he'd enjoy working those off her.

"Beth's nephew might know something."

Logan sat back in surprise. "What, here in Erradale?"

"Harold Parks. Worked at the auto shop for years. Past eighty but still sound."

"Thanks. I'll follow up."

"Has she met your ex?"

"Who?"

"Arianna."

"No and..."

Logan stood as the loner at the bar downed his beer and followed a kid in a hoodie to the exit. "Catch you later, Sergeant."

Tully lumbered to his feet. "Need help?"

"No."

Logan weaved his way through the crowd to the door. By the time he was outside, the kid was driving off in an old Chevy and the loner was sitting in a white pickup, rolling a cigarette. He wasn't going anywhere.

Logan decided to call it a night. He texted Tully to take over and started for his vehicle, wondering whether it was too late to call Annie with his news about Beth Gillies. He was half way across the parking lot when he saw a blue Honda pull in and Tessa Cullen emerge.

"Wait up, Detective," she called.

The loner turned his head to the sound.

Logan worked up a polite smile as Tessa strolled across to him.

"Ms. Cullen."

He tried not to look at her cleavage but it was hard to miss. A black top cut so low there was more flesh on display than top. It finished several inches above her short denim skirt. She wore red ankle-length cowboy boots and Logan had to admit she had good legs.

"We keep bumping into each other," Tessa said, her eyes ranging over his jeans and jacket. "It must be fate."

"More like small town propinquity."

She frowned. "I hope that means you're pleased to see me?"

When he didn't answer, she took a step closer, her perfume drenching the air.

"Is Annie here?"

"No."

"Buy me a drink?"

"I'm working."

She edged her bottom lip out. "That's a shame. I'm meeting my roommate, Amber, in the bar. You might have seen her. Long blonde hair. Killer curves."

"I think Amber has company."

He fished in his jacket pocket for his keys, aware that Tessa was watching him closely.

"Are you wearing your big gun tonight, Detective?"

Keys in hand, Logan tipped his head in the direction of the bar. "Amber will be waiting."

She didn't move. "Annie hardly ever comes to the Rocket. She's so prim and proper, if you know what I mean."

"Can't say I do. If you'll excuse me."

As he took a step in the direction of his SUV, Tessa's fingers closed over his arm. "Don't go. I want to talk to you."

"Is there something you want to ask me as a police officer?"

Her tongue played along her top lip. "Not exactly."

Logan lifted her hand from his arm. "Then good night."

He strode to his vehicle, listening to Tessa's boots scrunching on the gravel as she followed him. He was at the driver's door when he felt her hand on his back.

"Annie told me about Nicole."

Logan turned.

"She said your ex isn't very well and I should stay away from you. I'll tell you what else she said if you buy me a drink."

He was curious to know but not enough to be sandwiched between Tessa, Amber and the cowboy until closing time.

"Not possible."

"Annie is so dumb when it comes to men," Tessa went on as if he hadn't spoken. "If I hadn't told her about Adam's cheating, she'd never have found out."

"I suggest you go find your friend in the bar," Logan said, disliking Tessa Cullen more by the second.

"I'd rather go home with you or we could go to my place with Amber."

Logan thought she was joking until he saw the hard gleam in her eyes. "For Annie's sake, I'll forget you said that."

"She doesn't have to know."

Her cunning expression made his skin crawl. "I'm sure you and Amber can find some lowlife in the bar to drag home for a fuck."

"You asshole!"

Logan wasn't proud of himself. He was no stranger to bar pick-ups. He'd even gone for a three-way during those grief filled weeks after Alan's death when he'd blotted out everything with scotch and sex. The women he could barely remember except they were blondes and had crawled all over him. He'd fucked his brains out. Ironically, it had been the least satisfying sex of his life. Mechanical. Joyless. Bodies used for gratification, then discarded.

He yanked his door open, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. "Have a good evening, Ms. Cullen."

"You think you're so clever don't you, Detective. Well you won't feel clever when I tell Annie what you just tried."

Logan felt his blood cool. "What are you talking about?"

"How you had me up against your car, your hand up my skirt. How you wanted to screw me so bad. How I told you I wasn't interested and you tried anyway."

"Good night, Tessa."

"Detective Gauge, please don't!" she yelled and before he could react, had grabbed his jacket lapels and shoved against him. He felt her knee come up, aiming for his groin. Logan blocked the movement with his thigh and snared her wrists, forcing her back. He knew why she'd tried it. The guy in the pickup. There was at least fifty yards between the two vehicles and while he couldn't have heard much of their conversation, he had a perfect view.

Logan raised his own voice. "Get the hell out of my face before I arrest you for assaulting a police officer."

She stepped back and straightened her skirt.

"I'll tell her."

"Whatever," Logan said, sliding into the Navigator and yanking the door closed.

He watched Tessa stomp off toward the Rocket's entrance, her long hair swinging. He looked across to the loner. The guy was still sitting in his truck, smoking. Logan considered going over to ask him for a cigarette as an excuse to find out who he was—perhaps clear up the misconception. Instead, he ran the pickup's license plate through the on-board computer. The owner's history showed no priors or warrants.

Logan fired the engine. He needed a shower to rid himself of the smell of Tessa's perfume. How Annie could make a friendship with that hard-as-nails piece was beyond him. Tessa thought Annie naive. It wasn't naivety. It was goodness—something Tessa wouldn't recognize if it bit her on the ass.

He was halfway home when his mobile buzzed with a text.

cocoa

Logan smiled through his tiredness. Only she could make a cocoa invitation sound sexy.

He pulled over.

wking have news cu 2moro

An hour later he'd scrubbed himself clean. Even then he swore the smell of Tessa Cullen was still on him.
Eleven

"Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Parks."

"The name's Harold," came a shout from the kitchen. "That your red Mini Cooper out front?"

"Yes," Annie shouted back.

"Good car, the Mini. It'll have to be black."

"Sorry...?"

"The coffee. The milk's off."

"Black's fine," she said, dismayed at what else might be off in Harold's refrigerator.

She sat down at the end of a faded orange brocade sofa. The other end was taken by a sleeping black cat.

Harold arrived with two large, cracked coffee mugs, set one on a wobbly table in front of her and sat himself in the armchair next to the fireplace.

"I don't have much in the way of company these days," he said, cradling his mug in long bony fingers. His fingernails were dirty with what Annie supposed to be auto grease although he was tidy enough in his blue striped shirt and gray corduroy pants. His white hair was brushed in a well-oiled comb over and his mouth continuously chewed but on what was anyone's guess. For a man past eighty, he looked very spry.

Harold nodded at the cat. "That's Elvis. Turned eighteen last April."

"He's doing well," Annie said, dismayed all over again when the cat raised its head to nip at a flea. It eyed Annie through yellow slits before returning to its slumber.

Annie gazed around the living room. Every wall and corner was occupied by stacks of old newspapers and bulging cartons of what appeared to be car parts. The wallpaper had once been some shade of orange but now hung in moldy beige strips.

"How long have you been a widower, Harold?"

"Fifteen years this August," he said, following her gaze. He added apologetically, "my wife was the housekeeper."

"Do you have family here?"

"My son went to Alaska to work on the pipelines. Met a local girl and never came back. Haven't seen the grandkids for five years."

From the condition of the house it appeared Harold couldn't afford trips to Alaska.

"He keeps telling me to buy a computer so I can talk to them on Skip."

"Skype," said Annie.

He nodded, sipped his coffee and stared at her expectantly. Taking a deep breath for courage, Annie took a tentative sip. The coffee was good.

"This is delicious, Harold."

"My wife, Myra, bless her, loved her coffee. When she got ill, I learned how to make it just right for her." He looked sadly around the room. "She died in this house."

"She was happy here," Annie said confidently. "Happy people always cross over."

He frowned. "Right...well she was a good-natured lass."

"Have you always lived in Erradale Bay, Harold?"

"Oh yeah," he said, brightening. "Apart from the army. Saw action, you know." He slapped his leg. "Got the shrapnel to prove it."

The sound raised the cat's head again. It squinted at Annie's lap as though sizing it for comfort.

"I bought a house in Oak Lane a few months ago. Number four," Annie said, maintaining a watchful eye on Elvis.

"Old Emmaline Calloway's house. I'm surprised."

"Why is that?"

"So run down. Then there's the talk."

"Really? What kind of talk?"

"I don't want to scare you," Harold said, appearing concerned but clearly relishing the opportunity, "but folks around here think it's haunted."

"Perhaps it is."

At this, Harold looked disappointed. "It doesn't worry you?"

Annie usually liked to be open about her paranormal ability but she had a feeling Harold would be less than receptive to the revelation. "I can understand why people might think it's haunted," she answered carefully. "Miss Emmaline told me there's a spirit. Do you think she might be right?"

Harold screwed up his face. "That old girl was deranged."

"Yes, she is confused but her memory is good. She mentioned Beth."

Harold nodded. "When your detective called about Aunt Beth, I told him he was twenty years too late to drag her off to the pen." He laughed heartily at his own joke. "Sounded a nice young fellow on the phone. He your beau?"

Annie considered the question. "I suppose he is. I've only just met him."

"Policing is a good solid career. You could do worse."

Annie had to agree. When Logan had called at her store this morning with news of Beth Gillies and Harold's address, she'd hugged him in front of her customers. 'Just doing my job,' he'd said. He'd turned down her invitation to supper, insisting she come to his place for their missed steak and potatoes dinner.

"Did you see your aunt often, Harold?"

"Not very much but I know she was a real tomboy. Not interested in prettying herself up. Married late in life. Old Angus Gillies, the town clerk. Beth thought herself quite important after that. No children of course. After Angus retired, they travelled the world. Gone for months at a time, they were. Then, when he died, Beth didn't leave Erradale again."

Harold finished his coffee and set the mug on the floor beside his chair. "So why the interest in Aunt Beth?"

"I'm looking into the history of Miss Emmaline's house. Did Beth visit the Calloways?"

"Oh yes, Beth said her and Emmaline were friends for years until there was a falling out. It was after Emmaline's mother died. You know what girls are like. Argue over anything."

"Could it have been over a man?"

"Beth never said. More coffee?"

"Oh, no thank you. Is there someone in Erradale who might know?"

"Doubt it. Beth refused to talk about it but you're welcome to look through her photos. There might be something useful."

"That would be wonderful, Harold. Thank you so much."

Harold sprang to his feet and disappeared into the passage. The cat sat up, scratched its side and eyed Annie's lap again.

"Here you are," said Harold, returning with an armful of photo albums. "I was the only relative still alive when Beth died so the executor sent them here. Myra labeled a few, bless her, but most are holidays snaps. Aunt Beth was a keen photographer. Never without her camera."

He dumped the stack of albums at her feet.

"I don't want to take up your time but there are quite a lot," Annie said, bending down to count them. "Ten in all."

Harold dislodged the protesting Elvis and sat beside her. "I can tell you're a reliable young lady so you're welcome to borrow them."

"Thank you so much, Harold. I'll bring them back as soon as possible."

Harold was on his feet in a flash. "Let me get something to put them in." He tipped a carton on its end, scattering mechanical parts across the rug.

"Keep them for as long as you need," he said as Annie stacked the albums in the box. He and Elvis followed her outside. "I think we're in for rain tonight. He'll be on my bed for sure."

Annie left Harold standing on the doorstep with Elvis tucked under his arm.

She drove straight to Logan's apartment. He was on the porch to meet her.

"Right on time, Ms. Harte."

"You won't believe what I've found out," she said, carrying the carton up the path.

He took it from her. "Let me guess. The well is full of bodies."

Annie pushed up on her toes and kissed his cheek. "However did you work it out?"

"Easy," he said, waggling his brow. "I'm a brilliant detective. Supper's ready."

***

Logan's mouth was on her shoulder.

"You're not looking," Annie said.

"I'm looking."

Annie exhaled a pointed sigh and held up a photo of Beth and Angus. "That's Tower Bridge. They were in London in the sixties. You know what that means?"

"Can't say I do."

It was useless. Supper was out of the way and she'd cleared the dining table to make room for the albums. Except Logan was more interested in kissing than looking at photographs.

"The swinging sixties...you know...the Beatles."

"Damn, you smell good," he said, pushing her shoulder strap aside to kiss at a spot below. "You know you were wearing this dress the first time I saw you. There you were, standing in the middle of your living room, staring up at the ice with your mouth hanging open. I thought now there's a strange one."

She elbowed his ribs. "And you were in ripped jeans. You didn't look like a detective."

"What are they supposed to look like?"

"Tidy."

His soft laugh skipped warm air over her skin. "I didn't think you'd go out with me."

"I like a challenge."

He sat back and eyed her in amusement. "I've noticed. What about ice cream for dessert?"

"Not for me. There's nothing useful in this one." Annie closed the album and set it to one side before taking another from the carton at her feet. "This looks old."

His fingers toyed with her shoulder strap. "You sure I can't tempt you to something?"

"Are you going to help me or not?" Annie said, not entirely feigning her exasperation.

He leaned in close, his breath warm on her ear. "Right, so let's get this done."

Annie began to work through the pages but Logan's mouth was so close to her cheek, she couldn't concentrate. Sliding a peek at him, her body warmed to the scenery of big shoulders, broad chest and strong legs encased in light blue denim. He had trimmed his scruff especially for tonight. It ended in a sharp line under his jaw, an inch or so from his neck. How she loved his neck, loved its strength, loved the way it went taut against her mouth when he...

What?" he said into her musings.

"Oh, nothing."

"Aren't we supposed to be looking at photos?"

"I'm looking."

"Then why haven't you noticed this photo of you?"

Annie, engrossed in Logan's handsomeness, looked up startled. Above his finger on the page there was a color photo of her house and on the front porch stood two girls with an older woman behind.

"Omigosh, that's Emmaline!"

It was the smile Annie recognized. It hadn't changed. Emmaline Calloway as a young woman. Her hair, which might have been chestnut or black, was arranged in an updo and she wore a sleeveless, pink floral dress, full-skirted and cinched tightly at the waist.

"She's beautiful," Annie said on the verge of tears. "She was just starting out and so in love. I can tell."

Logan's arm slipped around her shoulders. "You okay?"

"Mm-hmm. It's just seeing her so happy." Annie sniffed and stared harder at the photo. "Are we really alike?"

"Pretty close in features. Same height and build. What color are her eyes?"

"Pale green but they would have been darker when she was young."

"Uh-huh." He bent down to peer at the photo. "I guess that's Beth."

"I suppose," Annie agreed, peering as well. The fair-haired, plump girl to Emmaline's left wore a plaid shirt under denim overalls. A cheeky grin bunched her cheeks.

"Harold said they had a falling out."

Logan pointed to the woman behind the girls. "And that's Emmaline's mother?"

Annie nodded. "It has to be. Emmaline said she wished her mother could have known Thomas."

"A secret affair?"

Annie wrapped a lock of hair around her finger, her mind clicking through possible explanations. "I think she was scared."

"Of her mother disapproving of Thomas?"

"Of Edmond finding out."

"So how did he?"

"It must have been after Emmaline's mother died that Thomas called at the house."

An image of Emmaline sitting on the stone seat at Millwood rose in Annie's mind. The beautiful features had come alive when she'd spoken of her fiancé.

"He was a very good lover," Annie said dreamily.

"How do you know that?"

"She told me Thomas carried her up the stairs, like you did."

Logan's fingers played along her bare back. "No wonder the spook was pissed. First Emmaline and now you. All that action and he wasn't getting any."

"It must have been difficult for her growing up with Edmond there," she said thoughtfully. In her own situation, Cordy's love and sound advice had kept her on course but Emmaline was alone in her gift. "I wonder if she told her mother about the spirit?"

Logan got to his feet. "While you think about that, I'll fix coffee. Want some?"

"Tea," she said idly, still thinking.

For all those years, Edmond Wilde had been a presence in Emmaline's life. Something horrific had happened in the house yet Emmaline had stayed and only Edmond could tell her the reason. She slipped the photo in her pocket and began to flick through the remainder of the album pages. Most were blank except for the last two which held studio photos of Beth as a baby.

Logan arrived with her tea and a coffee for himself.

"Nothing more in this one," Annie said, adjusting the corner of a photo that had come away from its mount. A small black and white photo, tucked behind the picture, slipped into view. It was of a man in a suit.

Annie flipped it over. No name. "I wonder who he is."

"Beth's father?"

"Too young," Annie said, placing the photo on the table to study the image. "Good heavens, that's my living room! He's in front of the stained glass window. It must be Thomas!"

Logan bent over the photo. "Jesus, the guy's terrified. That's weird."

"What?"

"He's in front of the window yet his shadow is behind him."

As Annie looked closely at the photo again, her heart filled with dread. There was nothing remarkable about the shadow and if Logan hadn't pointed out the light discrepancy, she might not have noticed. In the shadow behind Thomas, there was a faint outline of a coat and above, a dark smudge where Edmond's beard would be. But it was the eyes that came as confirmation. Two gleaming pinpricks of light within the black and which, to a casual observer, would appear to be faulty film processing.

Annie felt slightly sick. "It's Edmond. He manifested to scare Thomas from the house just as he tried to frighten you."

"If Thomas is in Beth's album, then she must have been in the house."

"That's it!" Annie said, stabbing a forefinger at the photo, "Beth saw Edmond as she took the photo. It was never an argument with Emmaline. It was seeing the spirit that drove her away."

"And she never told anyone?"

"They'd have thought her crazy." She pinched his arm. "You thought I was crazy."

"I did not!" he objected with a grin.

"Beth kept the photo for all those years to assure herself that what she saw was real."

She studied the image more closely. The photo was too faded to distinguish the features clearly but she could see Thomas had been a pleasant-faced young man. His hair was light in color and whilst not tall, he had a solid physique and fitted his suit well. How proud he must have been, engaged to the beautiful Emmaline Calloway and calling on her at her grand house.

He stood side on to the camera, his face turned to Beth, his mouth open in fright. Annie's heart went out to him. Perhaps he had gone there to rescue Emmaline?

Annie added the photo to the one in her pocket.

"Don't do it, Annie."

"I must what happened to him," she said. "It's the only way."

Logan's hands went to her shoulders. "Don't bring it back."

He was so concerned for her. So tender in his gruff way. She put a hand to his cheek. "Only the spirit can tell me how Thomas died. Besides, I refuse to let Edmond win. He must cross over or that house will be forever doomed."

"Better doomed than you hurt, or worse."

"I'm stronger than Emmaline and he knows it."

"You're not confronting that thing without me there."

"Your presence will only infuriate him," she said and then, in a sudden wave of affection, kissed him. "Please don't worry about me, Logan,"

"You're as stubborn as you are beautiful."

"And you are a fine man."

At her words, his eyes clouded. "Don't say that."

"I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true."

"You always see the good in people, Annie. Not everyone is good."

She put herself in his lap. "You know Harold said I could do worse than having a policeman for a beau."

He cocked a brow. "Beau? Is that what I am?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I think I like that."

Her emotions too tangled for her to speak, Annie nestled her face in his neck.

"Don't go home tonight," he whispered into her hair.

He pulled down the zipper of her sundress, running a finger down her spine to make her squirm. His cell buzzed. "Hell," he muttered, easing her back. "Sorry, I'll have to get this."

Annie climbed off his lap, re-zipped her dress and occupied herself with tidying the pile of albums. By the time she'd finished, Logan was at the window, talking low into his phone. She saw his head drop, heard his voice harden.

"What did she say?"

Nicole.

Quietly, Annie slipped away to the kitchen. She had the countertop cleared and the dishwasher stacked when Logan appeared in the doorway.

"I have to go," he said dully.

"Is everything all right?"

"Not really."

"Is it Nicole?"

He rubbed a thumb along the worry lines creasing his forehead. "No. It's..."

"What is it, Logan?"

"There's been a complaint to the police."

"Then go. I'll finish going through the albums until you get back."

She tried to kiss him but he held his head high—out of reach.

"It's against me."

"You?" Annie said, taking an involuntary step backward.

From the pain in his eyes, that step might have been a mile. She put her hand to his chest. "Whoever would say such thing, they're wrong. I know you..."

He cut her off. "You won't think that for long. You'd better leave."

"Tell me," she pressed softly.

"Tessa Cullen."

The name came on a savage whisper.

Annie felt the room swirl. "Tessa laid a complaint against you?!"

He stared at her frozen-eyed. "She says I assaulted her."

"What..." – Annie had to swallow to say the word – "assault?"

"Sexual."

Logan strode past her to the hallway.

Standing at his living room window, she watched him walk down the path to his car, heard the door slam and the engine rev hard.

He drove away without looking back.

It had started to drizzle.
Twelve

By the time Logan parked the Navigator at the station, the drizzle had turned to a downpour. A slanting, chilling rain that had stripped the town's streets of life. Erradale had hurried home to meals, television, the web...lovemaking.

Lovemaking.

Annie had turned him into a romantic. An hour ago the thought would have come on a smile. Now there was nothing in him but gnawing anger.

Tessa Cullen. The name soured his mouth. He'd underestimated her. Her threat to tell Annie some bullshit, he'd expected but Tessa had gone for the jugular. He'd rejected her. Insulted her. That would've burned the most and if he were being honest with himself, that's why he'd said it. She'd shown she was no friend to Annie. Fuck Tessa Cullen.

Logan locked the SUV and headed inside. The station was quiet on weeknights with only one rostered officer. Tonight it was Tully's drinking pal, Chuck Richards.

"Didn't expect to see you here," Chuck grinned as Logan walked past. "Someone else get mugged at the Rocket?"

"Something like that," Logan muttered without breaking his stride. Damn Tully and his keg-sized mouth.

He opened the door to the chief's office. John Morgan stood at the window staring at the rain. He turned as Logan closed the door.

"A nuisance, the weather," he said, gesturing to Logan to sit. "We'd planned a barbecue."

John took his seat behind his impeccably organized desk. Even out of uniform, in slacks and casual shirt, John's military-style bearing never slipped. Five foot, ten inches of precision. Granite-faced, straight-backed—every movement exact, every word clipped. The embodiment of efficiency and honor. His antipathy for messiness should have precluded Logan being his most favored officer but, like Logan, John was an ex-city cop who, for personal reasons, had abandoned a high-riding career, although their motivations for doing so couldn't be more different. Within days of his wife's cancer diagnosis, fifty-year-old John Morgan had quit his job as a deputy commissioner to take the role of Erradale Bay Chief of Police. He wanted to spend as much time as possible with his wife. It was a typical, self-sacrificing act of a man who conducted his life without flexibility or compromise. Three years on, nothing had changed other than his wife's slow deterioration. Logan knew only too well the staunchly proud police chief hadn't come to terms with the loss of his career any more than he had with his own. That in itself formed an unspoken bond between them.

Tonight John's usually impassive face showed strain. He didn't believe the allegation, Logan was sure of that. But that knowledge would never be conveyed to Logan, not even off the record. Like any investigation, it would be played by the book and if there was a case to answer, Logan would be charged and prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

"I'll ensure the officers don't discuss any of this outside the station," John began grimly, "but Ms. Cullen will likely talk. When I spoke to her, I got the impression her mouth is pretty mobile."

"When did the complaint come in?"

"Forty minutes ago. She called and asked to speak to the 'boss' so the call was diverted to my home. She's coming in tomorrow morning to make a formal statement." He ran his hand over his chin and Logan noticed that John hadn't shaved. He must have dropped everything to come to the station.

"This will be difficult, Detective. For you and your colleagues."

"How do you intend to handle it?"

"I'll personally conduct the investigation."

"And my statement?"

Logan's questions came automatically.

"I'll take that following my interview with Ms. Cullen."

"What does she say happened?"

John's face wore a look of discomfiture. "Tore off her panties, tried to...."

"I got it."

"She also says there's a witness who would have heard her scream...saw the struggle."

Logan nodded. "A guy in a pickup. I thought he might've been the perp for the mugging. Ran the plates. Clean."

"I'll need the details."

"They're logged. Tully was in the bar that night. He might know the guy."

"I'll check," John said. He leaned back in his chair. "A bad business for you, Detective. An allegation like this is a blow to any officer's career."

What career? Logan thought sourly.

"If it's any consolation," John continued as if he'd read Logan's mind, "there's no need for you to step down during the investigation, but no contact with the complainant."

"I know the protocol."

"You're a private, discreet man," John said with a wry smile. "Jock Tully could learn from you."

Logan shrugged.

"Damnation," the chief said in an uncharacteristic burst of emotion, "I've seen your commendations and awards. Your colleagues in L.A. rate you as one of the city's finest detectives. A stellar career. The youngest officer in L.A. to make lieutenant. Damned tough to give that up over a busted marriage. And now this..."

He trailed off, looking to Logan for comment. When none came, he returned to his official tone. "I'll need a few details before I interview Ms. Cullen. How do you know her?"

"She's a friend of a woman I'm dating."

"The name?"

"Arianna Harte."

John frowned. "Isn't she the one who had that ice structure in her house?"

"Yeah. Tully called me out to have a look at it. There was no sign of anything criminal. Probably a prank. We never found out who did it."

"And it was after that you started seeing Ms. Harte in a personal capacity."

"That's right."

John's cheeks flushed. "When and where did you meet Tessa Cullen?"

"Two days after the call out. I went to Annie's bookstore to check whether the prankster had been back. Ms. Cullen turned up."

He visualized Annie standing behind the counter in her red stop sign top, her beautiful smile welcoming him into her life. He'd leapt in like a man desperate to find a future.

"And had he?"

With his mind occupied with Annie's smile, it took Logan several seconds to find his voice. "Ah, no, he didn't come back."

"Did you ever cross paths with the Cullen woman again, before the Rocket incident?"

Logan stood up. To hell with it all. He stalked to the door and yanking it open, turned to the chief. "I'll be in first thing. Right now I'm going home."

"Detective," said John sharply, out of his chair and walking around his desk to stand with feet braced wide as if he were back on the beat talking to a truant. "Until this is resolved, you are not to contact Arianna Harte."

"Stay out of my business, John," Logan snarled and slammed the door on his way out. He exited the station by a side door to avoid Richards. That the chief and Logan were in the station late on a weeknight would've told him something was up. By tomorrow morning, the news of Tessa Cullen's complaint would be all over the station. Tully would be in his office, demanding a blow-by-blow account of what happened after Logan left the Rocket.

He sat in his car, staring mindlessly at the dash, hating the thought of going home. Annie's presence was there—everything clean and fresh, just like her. Tonight she'd tidied the apartment while he'd cooked the steaks. She'd even turned down the bed ready for their lovemaking.

He needed a drink.

He drove to the Blue Sail and parked on the road beside the bar's small parking lot. The place was three miles out of town so generally quiet on weeknights which suited him. There was little chance of running into anyone he knew. Tessa Cullen, for one. Jock Tully, for another.

He ordered a triple scotch and beer chaser and sat at the far end of the bar for solitude. Not that there was much chance of company as the place was all but deserted. In a corner, three guys were playing pool and a group of five were listening to fifties music on an old jukebox, presumably retained by the owner for its nostalgic value. A forty-something waitress in jeans wandered from table to table, polishing the tops and rearranging chairs. The bar's large-faced, whiskey-nosed proprietor who'd served him was now positioned at the end of the bar watching sports on a wall television. Logan could hear it faintly above the music.

His brooding was irrational. The complaint would be handled professionally. It was even possible Tessa would retract her statement under John's razor-sharp interviewing skills although it wasn't likely. She had a strong case. Her word against his and with a witness to corroborate her story of a struggle, Tessa would see it through to the bitter end.

Logan drained the scotch in one take. The waitress, back behind the bar, sauntered along to his end. Her name badge said Alice.

"Another?"

Logan nodded and watched her pour.

"I usually work afternoons but Allison took off for New York," she said, leaning an elbow on the bar. "Chasing after some man. I told her if you have to go after 'em, they're not not worth it. Wouldn't listen."

Logan nodded indifferently.

"Haven't seen you in here before," she continued smiling. "First time?"

"No. Just here for a quiet drink."

Taking the hint, Alice took her cloth from a pocket, polished at a spot on the counter and strolled away to join the proprietor.

Logan sipped his scotch. This would put him over the limit and he'd need to call a cab. Then someone from the station would have to drive out to collect the Navigator. More questions.

He pushed the glass to one side and started on the beer chaser.

Annie. What would she be thinking right now? Or doing for that matter? On the phone with Tessa most likely.

In some perverse way, it was a relief that he and Annie had ground to a halt. Since the end of his marriage he'd lived entirely within himself, neither seeking nor needing a woman's company beyond the bedroom. He'd slipped into a relationship with Annie too fast and too easily. All along she'd been a fantasy. Now he was back to reality. Reality in steel-toed boots. Once Tessa's complaint led to a prosecution and trial, he had no future with Annie and if by some miracle Tessa withdrew the allegation, it wouldn't make any difference. He was finished in Erradale Bay.

He had to put Annie aside. Not so difficult considering he'd put women aside so many times it was second nature. He didn't need her perfection anyway. Or her trusting nature. People like her always wound up hurt. This time he'd been the one to hurt her. It wouldn't happen again. He'd find his own life, whatever and wherever that would be. Annie would find hers. Their story was over.

The jukebox finished its round of tunes and the group left the bar. He could hear them laughing in the parking lot, followed by a car starting and accelerating down the road.

He should go home. The thought didn't appeal any more than it had an hour ago. His thoughts returned to Annie. No doubt she'd still be up, stewing over the whole thing—outraged at what he'd done.

At that moment it occurred to him that, angry, confused and in possession of a photo of Thomas, she just might have a mind to summon up the spirit.

Slapping two twenties on the bar, he walked out. For several minutes he sat in the SUV, chewing over whether to call Annie or go to her house. He decided on the latter. If she slammed the door in his face, at least he'd know she was okay.

Decision made, Logan swung a U-turn and headed for Oak Lane. By the time he was at her front gate, the rain had eased to a drizzle. The street lay shrouded in a heavy mist, the houses barely distinguishable in the gloom. He could see Annie's downstairs lights on through a crack in the curtains.

He walked up the cobblestone path, the sodden, drooping flowers brushing his legs in eerie escort. Annie must have seen him coming as she had the door open the instant he stepped onto the porch.

The first thing he noticed was she'd changed into a sleeveless pink dress and black shoes. She looked overdressed, almost old-fashioned. He moved closer, shocked by what he saw. Her hair was dark and tightly pulled back and her eyes, usually so vivid, were dull and framed by skin so pale, the freckles on her nose stood out like a dusting of coffee grains. She looked as if she'd been dropped into someone else's body.

"Are you okay?" he asked, knowing the question was inane under the circumstances but compelled to ask it anyway.

"You are not welcome here," she said stiffly.

"I wanted to make sure you're all right. That you wouldn't do anything rash."

"Rash?"

"Get the spirit back."

"I can look after myself."

If she hadn't looked so ashen, so utterly unlike herself, he might have believed her.

"Can I come in?"

"We have nothing to say to each other."

The chill in her voice hung like an icy blanket about her rigid body. He went to move past her, intending to check the living room for signs of the spirit but she put her fingers to his chest and pressed him back before dropping her hand. It was the briefest of contact, yet enough to have Logan aching to put his arms around her.

"I want you to leave, Detective Gauge."

"Listen to me," he said firmly. "I know you're angry about what's happened but I need to know you're okay."

The blanket of resistance slipped a little when her lip quivered. "I'm perfectly fine."

"It's here, isn't it? That's why you're acting like this."

"I was wrong about you."

Logan caught the torment in her voice. "Talk to me, Annie."

"Don't you understand, I don't want you!"

This madness in her was all designed to get him to leave. He got that.

"I'm not leaving until you convince me the spook isn't back."

She looked uneasily over her shoulder toward the door.

"Let me help you," he said quickly, ready to grab her if she tried to bolt inside.

"I don't need your help."

"Sweetheart, what's happened to you?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It didn't make for good telling," he said quietly and truthfully.

"Tessa flirted with you and you took it the wrong way and assaulted her."

"Annie, we both know this..." He made a gesture at her clothes. "Whatever this is meant to be has nothing to do with Tessa Cullen. You're totally out of character. You look different and I intend to find out why."

"You tried to rape her!" she spat at him, then put her fingers over her mouth as though the word had scalded her lips. "Just leave, Logan."

Her misery tore at him. "That thing in your house. What does it want?"

She looked at him in mute desperation.

"If you won't tell me what's going on, Annie, I'll find out for myself."

She backed up, spreading her arms to shield the doorway. In one movement Logan stepped forward and lifted her out of the way. When he set her down, she plucked feebly at his sleeve, trying to stop him entering the house.

To his surprise, the place was as immaculate as it always was. No chilled air beyond the normal. No ghostly apparition lurking in a corner.

"There's nothing to see here," she said from behind him.

Unconvinced, Logan walked the room looking for signs of something...anything that could provide an explanation for her strange appearance and behavior. As far as he could tell there was nothing amiss. He went to the kitchen. It was bright and clean.

When he returned to the living room, Annie was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, her knees drawn up to her chin, her face a halo of white against the surrounding darkness.

Logan seated himself on the sofa, seeing the photos on the coffee table. "I guess it's seen these," he said, turning to look at her.

She didn't answer.

"You might as well talk to me."

His voice sounded unnaturally loud in the silence.

She slowly got to her feet and walked across the room to sit in the armchair, winding her hands tightly together in her lap.

Logan held up the photo of Emmaline Calloway. "Do you realize you look exactly like her?"

"That's ridiculous!" she flared, then drew a slow breath. "If you don't go, I'll call the police."

It was on the tip of his tongue to tease her about being the police. Instead, he said, "you told me Thomas carried Emmaline up the stairs. I carried you up those stairs? I laid you on your bed. We made love."

She stared down at her hands.

"You make love like no woman I've ever known, Annie."

She looked up. It was hard to take those beautiful eyes so full of pain.

"I care about you and I know you care about me," he added softly.

She looked past his shoulder before shaking her head. "I never cared for you."

She didn't even sound convincing.

"Come home with me so I know you're safe."

"No."

"Why not? Will the spook try and stop you?"

"He's not here."

"Then prove it. Come to my place."

In a burst of energy she took to her feet. "I never want to see you again! Leave my house!"

Defeated, Logan dropped the photo on the table and stood. He didn't give a damn about John Morgan's orders but he could hardly kidnap her.

This house and her ghosts were the essence of Annie...of who she was. He had no real understanding of her supernatural world but he had little choice but to trust her judgment.

He reached for her hand, needing to reassure himself that she was still a living, breathing woman although which woman, he no longer knew. She put her hands behind her back so he stood there, staring at her helplessly. In the washed out green of her eyes he could no longer see the black flecks.

Logan put his apartment key on the coffee table. "In case you need it."

He made a final visual check of the room before moving to the door. If the spook was here, it was doing one hell of a job of concealing itself.

Out on the porch, he finally felt weary enough to face his apartment.

Annie wanted him out of her life.

Tomorrow he just might believe it.
Thirteen

He created illusions.

Until now, she had not realized the enormity of his power. Edmond could make her—anyone—see what he wanted them to see. Not only see, but experience his make believe. The ice had fooled everyone, even her. He was fooling her now.

Annie stared at herself in her bedroom mirror, seeing a stranger. The full-skirted dress with the pink orchid design wasn't hers, nor were the black shoes. Her hair was dark and drawn into a French twist, a hairstyle she had never worn. Her face was chalk-white and her eyes more gray than green. Logan was right. She looked like Emmaline Calloway.

It had been the folly of arrogance to assume Edmond would not return unless invited. His capitulation to her demand had been nothing but a ruse to keep her in the house. From the beginning, his behavior had been a pose and now he had made her one of his illusions. The terror of it was that this could be her new, permanent existence.

She thought of Logan. How she had longed to tell him she knew Tessa had lied. One look into his tortured eyes had apprised her of that certainty. Yet she had forged her own lie to drive him away. She had played into Edmond's hands.

A tear stole down her cheek. "Don't," she whispered, dashing the wet aside. All that matters is Logan is safe. Yes, her situation was dire but for all Edmond's power, he could not bend her will. All she had to do was be firm with him, remind him that he was a gentleman. Appeal to his Victorian manners. Then escape him.

Stepping into the passage, she sensed him on the landing but when she took a step, he moved downstairs. Now that he had her trapped in the house he could afford to play his games at leisure.

With dread, Annie descended the stairs, each step taking her closer to the evil that had taken custody of her body. She must remain cool, follow her usual routine and show disdain for his illusions.

She would make tea. She always thought better with tea. Walking calmly to the kitchen, she turned on the kettle and opened the china cupboard to find a teacup. She stepped back in shock. The broken teapot and mug sat intact on the middle shelf, just where they had always been. Taking the teapot from the shelf and half-expecting it to shatter in her hands, she checked for chips or cracks, finding none. Had it all been an illusion? Or was this the illusion? There was no way of telling the real from the unreal any more.

Annie sat down at the table, her fragile confidence crushed under the growing certainty that Edmond could do anything he liked with the house. With her.

"Arianna."

Edmond appeared in front of her, smiling triumphantly. While his victorious expression did not surprise her, his transformation astounded her. Edmond existed in color. His skin had the hue of living flesh, his hair the color of ripe corn and he wore an impeccably tailored Victorian evening suit. Only his soulless black eyes told of his former self.

"I see you are surprised at my change," he said with a small bow. "I thought it time."

"Time?"

"For you to see me as I really am, Arianna."

"Shouldn't that be Emmaline?"

He chortled. "Forgive the liberty, my dear. As a young girl, Emmaline was a beauty but she lacked your loveliness, your vibrancy."

"So why have you created her likeness?" Annie challenged.

"A small display of my power for your lover's benefit," he said, rocking on his heels. "Ingenious, don't you think?"

"If you are so powerful, why didn't you manifest in his presence?"

"There was no need to include him in our evening," Edmond answered smoothly.

Annie did not believe him. More likely the truth lay in the spirit's fear of Logan. To know the cause of that fear might serve as a weapon.

"In any event I'm glad he's gone," she said. "What he did was inexcusable."

Edmond's eyes glistened. "I pray you are sincere, Arianna, for it would disappoint me to find otherwise."

"I believe Tessa," Annie said without flinching. "Detective Gauge is no longer welcome in this house."

"Then I am pleased." He offered his arm. "Come, I have everything prepared."

As Annie rose, Edmond placed her hand on his forearm and escorted her to the dining room. The room bathed in the amber hue of myriad candles set on a mahogany sideboard and various side tables, none of which she'd seen before. The walls, which had been bare, were now richly decorated with oil paintings. A large portrait of Edmond as a child dominated the far wall. In a plaid Knickerbocker suit, he smiled benignly upon the room, his hand resting on the back of a dappled fawn. While the dining table had not changed, it now bore the most elegant decoration. A magnificent silver candelabrum stood at the center, surrounded by vases of white roses which, in turn, were encircled by covered silver platters.

"You must dress for the occasion," Edmond said, standing back.

Annie felt something soft coil about her body and when she looked down, Emmaline's clothes had been replaced with an evening gown—an exquisite construction of green taffeta embroidered with white peonies. The low-cut corseted bodice, laced at the front, had a trim of white piping and at the waist hung a large embroidered green bow. Lifting the full skirt and petticoats, Annie saw her feet were encased in green satin slippers.

"I trust you approve, Arianna. I chose the color to complement your eyes."

Annie could not resist inspecting herself in the gold-framed mirror above the sideboard. Her skin glowed healthily, her eyes were as bright as jewels and her hair was coiled high in the style of a Victorian lady. Emeralds hung at her ears and a delicate black lace choker circled her neck. How Edmond could manage this composition of beauty and elegance was truly astonishing.

"You are lovelier than even I had imagined," he said, guiding her to a chair at the end of the table. "I hope you enjoy my preparations for this evening."

"Did you and Emmaline dine like this?" Annie inquired, taking the seat offered.

"This is our time, Arianna," he answered softly. "I want no distractions tonight." Two glasses of burgundy appeared on the table. "To us," he said, lifting a glass and waiting for her to follow.

Annie ignored the toast.

Without acknowledging her snub, Edmond took his seat at the far end of the table. "I think venison to start. Or something else if that does not please you."

Despite her curiosity at what lay under those gleaming domes, Annie declined. "I have no appetite for any of this, Edmond."

"Perhaps you wish for other pleasures," he said, his gaze on her décolletage. When his eyes lifted to hers, she saw they were full of fire. "After all, you are at an age when a woman is at her most beautiful, most sensual. But for now, we shall talk. Select a topic. Any topic. I am well versed in the art of conversation."

"Why have you done this?"

"To express my affection for you."

"But why now?" Annie pursued. "You've had opportunity before?"

"I had hoped you would come to me willingly but there have been...let us say...impediments. Now those are gone, we are free to enjoy one another. I can offer you anything you desire."

"And if I desire to leave?"

Edmond set his elbows on the table and made a steeple of his fingers. "Then I will have failed," he said with a slow smile. "But I haven't failed have I, Arianna?"

This was surely how Edmond had tricked Emmaline. To a young and impressionable girl, his Victorian manners and conversation might have seemed charming, even alluring. But over time, Edmond would have created a fantastic world of illusion for Emmaline. A world which left her with few liberties and ultimately without hope. Emmaline had spoken of Edmond with such dread, it was only now the reason for that fear was evident. Edmond shifted effortlessly between graciousness and tyranny. He was a monster.

"What brought you to Erradale Bay, Edmond?" she asked to steer the conversation to a more productive topic. "Were you driven from polite society?"

Edmond eyed her thoughtfully before answering. "Very well, my dear, I will go along with this game you insist on playing. My father was a wealthy East Coast banker who believed I should amass my own fortune so upon marriage, my wife and I moved to Erradale Bay. In those days, it was merely a collection of cottages. I established a construction company and built this town along with others on the coast. I became very rich."

"Were you liked by the town's residents?"

"I was a businessman."

"Your evasion suggests you were not liked."

"Success in business breeds a certain resentment."

"Your wife, Charlotte. Tell me about her?"

"She was a girl of eighteen when I married her."

"You loved her?"

"Very much. I built this house for her."

"And did she love you?"

"It takes time for a young bride to adjust."

"She was unhappy, wasn't she Edmond?" Annie ventured. "She wanted to leave you?"

His reaction was instant and fierce. "I warn you, Arianna, even I have limits to your abuses." When Annie opened her mouth to retort, he frowned, then smiled. "I have no wish to quarrel with you on this of all nights."

"Edmond, do you remember that I promised to help you? Find out how you died?"

"I recall the conversation."

"I still intend to help you but you must tell me everything about yourself."

"You wish to know the source of my power," he said, watching her keenly. "Be patient, my dear, for in time you will know everything."

"I already know you are not at peace with yourself. I can help you find that peace if you will allow me."

Edmond immediately rose to his feet. "If you do not care to dine or engage in pleasantries then we shall dance."

A waltz played from the living room. Strauss, she thought.

Edmond took her hand and brought her to her feet. Annie had never waltzed in her life yet she found herself effortlessly following Edmond's skillful lead as he danced them through to the living room. Without doubt, he had a light and graceful step. It was at their third or fourth rotation that Annie became aware of the changes in her surroundings. Her leather suite had been replaced with a crimson velvet sofa and the fireplace, which she intended to restore before winter, was now as new, flanked by large red, wing-backed chairs. Against the wall, where the bookcase had been, stood a magnificent grandfather clock. Annie supposed this to be the original décor. The thought that she might no longer be in the present but in the nineteenth century, trapped with Edmond, was truly terrifying.

She felt his mouth brush her cheek. "How I've longed for this, my love."

Annie froze.

He seemed not to notice her sudden stiffness for he continued to steer her about the room, his mouth pressed to her cheek, an inch from hers. When she attempted to ease from him, his arm tightened about her waist.

"Do not fight me tonight," he murmured. "We can enjoy that pleasure another time."

Seduction or force, it would make no difference to Edmond.

Willing herself to calm, Annie angled her face from his and waited until he had brought them to a halt before once again endeavoring to disengage from Edmond's hold. It was as steel. Then shockingly, his mouth was on hers. Annie pressed her lips together.

"Open your mouth," he breathed, his tongue seeking entry.

Annie pulled her head back, her stomach clenching at the sight of Edmond's wet lips, parted and waiting.

"Mr. Wilde, your behavior is improper."

"Have I not made my affection for you plain enough?" he growled, trying to snare her mouth again. Annie dipped her head.

Edmond's hand forced her chin up. "Madam, I've wooed you with flowers and wine and a fine gown. What more do you need?"

"Freedom from your attentions, sir."

"When you give me what I want, you will be free to retire."

"What you want is indecent."

He stared at her in both outrage and incredulity. "You've lain with men before, yet you would deny me?!"

"I most certainly do."

"Then I must take what I have long waited for!"

With one hand, Edmond pulled her hips hard to his. Through the layers of taffeta and petticoat, she felt his carnal intent.

"Feel me, Arianna. Feel my desire for you."

"I do not care a fig for your desire, Edmond. Let me go."

His fingers gripped the top of her bodice. "A pity to ruin such a fine gown but there will be others."

Annie tried to pull away but Edmond had become a grunting brute, tearing at the delicate fabric and ties until she was bared to him.

"Quite lovely," he murmured, slackening his hold to cup a breast. With one wild movement, Annie liberated herself, stumbling back against the sofa.

"Come here, Arianna," he ordered, staring at her exposed breasts and panting like an animal.

Annie all but stamped her foot. "No!"

"I have the power to arouse you," he roared. "To make you beg for my touch!"

"But you won't," she answered calmly as if her heart wasn't leaping in fear at the prospect. "That would make you more of a monster than even I could conceive!"

His hand stretched out with fingers that curled like a claw. "I will be gentle with you. Come to me."

"I will not!"

"What must I do?" he sneered. "Must I become one of your past lovers? Mortal men have no honor, Arianna. I will never betray you."

"I will not be your mistress, Edmond. Not now, not ever."

"Then you and I will be betrothed. You cannot deny your fiancé."

Annie didn't know whether to laugh...or cry...or scream at the ridiculousness of it all. "You think the sham of a betrothal will make me want you?!"

His gaze wound a lascivious path down her body. "Rest assured, my lovely, you will desire me more than any man you have ever known."

"Is this what you did to Emmaline? Held her prisoner in the hope she would want you?"

An ugly smile stretched his fleshy mouth. "Emmaline and I were lovers."

Annie felt the blood drain from her face. "No, that's not true."

"She met my needs until I tired of her."

"And Thomas?"

Edmond waved a dismissive hand. "An imbecile."

"You murdered him and made Emmaline put his body in the well, didn't you?!"

He strode to her, his lips drawn back in a snarl of fury.

"And afterward," Annie shouted, "you forced yourself on her!"

"She gave herself," he said, his eyes on her breasts, "just as you will."

"You're a liar! Emmaline would never want you. You are disgusting!"

Edmond's face turned white and whilst she expected to be hurled across the floor, it was Edmond who took himself about the room, pacing wildly, his head bent low in some awful contemplation. Annie took a step toward the front door but found her progress halted by his furious roar.

"Cast aside any notion of leaving, madam!"

"I will not submit to you."

"Then you will stay here until you do!" he thundered and Annie saw the rest of her life flash before her eyes—locked in his illusions until she was old and insane.

"Cross over, Edmond. There is nothing for you here."

"So you can bring him to my house. Lie with him. I will not permit it!"

"Would you rob me of all happiness?"

"I can give you more happiness than any living man."

"But you cannot give me a life, Edmond."

"I can give you eternal life!"

Annie's throat thickened in fear. "Whatever you..."

"I will make you as I am," he growled over her words, "you will see as I see, feel as I feel, want as I want."

Edmond strode across the room to fold her into his arms again, sweeping them into another waltz. No music this time—only the sound of his breath rasping in her ear as he flowed them ever faster about the room.

She struggled against the supernatural hold. "Don't do this, Edmond, I beg you."

"Relax, my love. Soon it will be over."

Heavy arms crushed all breath from her body. Edmond's mouth became a hot coal to her ear, his arm a rod to her back. She tried to claw his face, but her hands were no longer flesh and her screams came as ragged gasps.

"Resistance only makes the pain worse, Arianna. There is nothing you can do."

Oh yes there was.

Annie summoned the last of her physical existence to hiss into his ear. "If I die, I will cross over and you will be alone forever."

As if Saint Peter himself had intervened, Edmond ceased his fatal dance. Pushing away from him, Annie sucked a breath into her deflated lungs. Bodily sensation returned. She had her weapon.

"Losing you, Arianna, I could not bear that."

Still breathing deep to restore herself, Annie could only manage a hoarse whisper. "Then stay away from me."

Edmond resumed his pacing until, after a minute or so, he came to stand before her. "I see now that you will forever fight me," he said in a tone of bitter frustration. "I desire that you lie with me willingly for only your passion will give me true happiness. So I offer a proposal that will satisfy us both. Give me one night and I will depart this house forever."

Annie opened her mouth to refuse but Edmond pressed a thumb to her lips. "Take time to consider my offer, Arianna, for I do not make it lightly."

"How can I know you are sincere?"

"Because until your decision, you may come and go from the house as you wish."

"And if I do not return?"

"You will return."

The words, uttered with such certitude, made her shiver.

Edmond walked to the stairs. "I give you three days," he said without turning. "Until then I will not disturb you."

Annie watched him climb the stairs. At each tread, his form dulled like a painter's palette robbed of color until, at the landing, there was nothing but a wisp of black where his feet would have been. Annie felt her body freed from the gown and jewels.

Naked, she stood on the spot, glorying in her existence. She was alive and whilst not fully recovered, for she felt a strange lightness to her body, she had survived Edmond.

She went upstairs and dressed. Then she walked the house, checking for traces of his illusions. Her home was as before, everything in its place. She went to the kitchen. The teapot and mug had gone.

Standing at the kitchen window, Annie stared at the brick well. The circlet of lavenders now looked more like a funeral wreath around a tomb than a cheerful summer display. Edmond had robbed Emmaline and Thomas of their lives. He had almost taken hers. His proposal was repugnant yet it was a solution. One night and Edmond would be gone forever.

He could never hurt anyone again.
Fourteen

Logan drove past Annie's store on his way out of town. The open sign was turned to the street and as he slowed, he caught a glimpse of her talking to a customer inside. She looked normal enough so whatever had caused her to look like Emmaline Calloway apparently hadn't lasted. While the knowledge didn't exactly ease his concern, it gave him confidence enough to leave Erradale for a night.

He consulted his watch. Allowing for travel time and zones, the noon flight from New York to L.A. would give him several hours with the family before Hannah's party.

She was at the airport to meet him.

"You haven't called in ages," she said, wrapping him in a hug. "Something's wrong, I can feel it."

As always, she smelled of baking. His big sister, the domestic goddess. Wife, mother, patron saint of good deeds and homeless animals and, this morning, on one of her rescue missions.

"And you've lost weight." she tutted, standing back to look him over. "Feeding, that's what you need."

He felt like one of her strays. "Happy birthday, Sis. How did you get to be thirty-four?"

"Don't remind me," she said, pulling a face. She tucked her arm through his as they walked to the parking lot. "Everyone wanted to come to the airport but I told them I need time alone with my little brother."

"So how is everything?" Logan asked.

"Fine. The firm's restructuring so Ben's taking the plunge and starting his own consultancy."

"Good move. Private security is a thriving area."

"He wants your advice. He knows about security systems but nothing about criminal behavior."

"Always happy to talk about felons," Logan grinned.

"The van's over there," she said, pointing at the battered Toyota that accommodated the Wright family and Monty, the rescue shelter Labrador.

Opening the passenger door, Logan cleared the seat of toys and discarded sweet wrappers and climbed in. His sister hadn't changed her untidy ways any more than he had. He thought of what Annie would say if faced with the mess. Probably very little. She'd just set to tidying up.

"So what is it?" Hannah asked as she fired the engine.

"How are the kids?"

"Okay, don't tell me. The kids are good. Emily now wants to be a famous model and Billy is more determined than ever to be a detective like his uncle."

Logan chuckled. "Yeah? And the twins."

"Growing like weeds. They'll be five next month."

"Hell."

Hannah looked across at him. "I wish you'd tell me, Logan."

Logan decided to get it done. "I've been charged with sexual assault."

"Oh God, it's Nicole, isn't it?" she breathed. "I knew that mad cow would do something like this."

"It's not her."

"Oh," Hannah said, frowning. "Anything I can do?"

"No."

Silence descended for the rest of the thirty minute drive. He and Hannah could always sense the other's mood and right now, he was grateful for her understanding.

The kids were waiting in the front yard. The identical twins, in identical yellow pajamas, were the first to arrive as he stepped out of the van.

"Uncle Logie!" they squealed in unison, tugging at his jeans.

He picked one up in each arm. "Now which is Gabe and which is Noah." They squealed again, pointing at the other. Apart from the family, no one could tell them apart. Logan occasionally got them mixed up, much to everyone's amusement.

"I can read all by myself," Noah announced proudly.

"You can read five words," sighed Emily, strolling over and looking up at Logan serenely. "How was your trip, Logan?"

Twelve year old Emily, disdainful of all things sentimental, had given up calling him uncle, much to Hannah's disgust.

"Good. How's school?"

"Boring." She brushed her long dark hair away from her face. "Actually, I have an audition for a shampoo commercial next week."

"That's great, Em."

No one who met Emily Wright forgot her. Her brown-eyed parents had bequeathed her breathtaking blue-violet eyes and her mouth—too wide, too full and too prone to sulkiness, had the kind of pout that would undoubtedly make her a celebrity.

Logan set the twins down and turned to eight-year old Billy, patiently waiting his turn. "Solved any cases lately, Billy?"

Billy gave Logan a hug, looking up at him gravely. "Uncle Logan, can you show me how to take fingerprints?"

"Sure. Where's the crime scene?"

Billy glared at his brothers. "My bedroom. One of them stole my solar robot."

"Has the property been recovered?"

"Yeah, but the perp won't confess. I need their fingerprints for a match."

"Identical twins usually have the same prints."

"Oh," Billy said, disappointed.

Logan leaned low to Billy's ear. "So we'll interview them. One of them will cut a deal."

Noah and Gabe jumped up and down, chanting, "not me, not me!"

"Man, you're getting tall," Logan said, straightening and ruffling Billy's hair.

"He'll be big like you," said Hannah.

His sister had always maintained Billy was Logan's doppelganger. William Logan Wright, the always calm member of the family. Brown-haired, brown-eyed and like Logan, single-minded in his career choice.

"Right, guys," said Hannah in her rallying voice. "There'll be time to talk to your uncle later. Billy, get Monty ready for his walk. Twins, you should've been dressed hours ago so hop to it. Emily, take Uncle Logan's bag upstairs. Coffee for you, brother?"

"Love some."

While the children disappeared inside, Logan followed Hannah down the path to the rear of the house and into the Wright's vast French country style kitchen. Logan had never seen it empty. Even after supper, everyone hung around while Hannah baked. This afternoon it was in use by Hannah's husband who stood at the hob, stirring something in a saucepan. The counter was covered with home baked bread, trays of cookies and a large chocolate cake.

"Hey stranger," Ben said, grinning.

"Good to see you, Ben."

They shook hands. Benjamin Wright was several inches shorter than his five-eleven wife. Whereas Hannah was round, Ben was thin. It constantly amazed Logan that the guy could pack away so much of Hannah's cooking without gaining an ounce.

"My contribution...beef stew," Ben said, taking a taste from the ladle and adding salt.

"Ben," said Hannah, "can you...?"

Ben nodded and set the ladle on the bench. "I'll walk with Billy. Catch you later, Logan."

He kissed his wife's cheek and left.

Logan took a seat at the long kitchen table while Hannah made coffee, poured two cups and set a plate of cookies on the table before taking a seat opposite him.

"Who is she?"

"Someone who doesn't take rejection well."

Hannah snorted. "Sounds like Nicole."

Logan lifted a shoulder.

"Surely it won't go all the way to a trial?"

"It will. There's a witness," he answered, his heart turning at the shock in his sister's eyes.

"How can someone lie like that?"

"Not lying. Just mistaken in what he saw. The woman has a strong case."

Hannah's hand closed over his fingers. "If you're...?"

"Convicted? Possibly prison."

She burst into tears.

Logan handed her a paper napkin. "I'm counting on you to be strong, Sis."

"What happens to your career?" she asked, wiping her eyes.

"There isn't one. Regardless of the outcome, this kind of allegation leaves a mark on a cop."

"Dear God, Logan, does this woman know the damage she's doing?"

"She knows," Logan answered sourly. "That's why she did it."

Hannah wiped her eyes again. "Erradale Bay was meant to be a new start. Come back to L.A."

"Perhaps."

Except leaving Annie was out of the question. He didn't deceive himself that their relationship could be fixed. She may no longer want him in her life but he wasn't going anywhere. Seeing her as Emmaline Calloway had shaken him to the core. If her transformation could happen once, it could happen again. She might never come back. He'd see that damned spirit in hell before he'd let that happen.

"Logan?"

"Sorry, I was thinking about something."

"What happens now with the investigation?"

"It goes to the local prosecutor."

"Stay here with us."

"Can't do but thanks anyway."

Hannah blew her nose. "Have you seen Nicole since she moved to New York?"

"Yeah," Logan nodded. "Turned up in Erradale."

"Did she tell you her father forced her to see a shrink?"

Logan shook his head. "Nicole would never admit that to me."

"Well she told me. Says it's all intended to keep you and her apart. She scares me, Logan. Calls every second day to see what you're doing. I don't tell her anything but it hasn't stopped her." She stood and began stirring the beef stew. "What about something to eat before the party? There's leftover lasagna."

Logan smiled. In Hannah's world, a square meal cured all ills. "Thanks," he said, "but I ate on the flight. What time does it all start?"

"Around six. The neighbors are coming. A few people from Ben's work and my girlfriends and their partners and kids. Actually Pam is coming out of a divorce. You might..."

Logan shook his head. "Don't even think about it."

"She's your type. Tall, blonde."

Logan threw her a warning look. A smile crept over Hannah's face. "You've met someone! Does Nicole know?"

Logan got to his feet. "Anything you need done for the party?"

"Who is she?"

"There must be something I can help with."

Hannah sniffed. "You could blow up the balloons."

He rubbed his hands together in a show of enthusiasm. "Right, where are they?"

"Finish your coffee, I'll get them."

While Hannah went to find balloons, Logan stood at the window, staring indifferently at the party preparations in the back yard. As much as he loved his sister and her brood, he wished he hadn't come. Playing the cheerful relative for a night wasn't going to improve his mood. He checked his watch. Being a Saturday, Annie would have closed her store by now. She'd be at that damned house.

The thought had barely taken hold when a feeling of foreboding seized him. She was in trouble.

Yanking his phone from his pants, he called her cell. It was off so he called the airline to book a seat on the next flight to New York. All flights were full, they said, but they'd call him if there was a cancellation.

"There are heaps to do," Hannah said, tossing a bag of balloons on the table.

Logan blinked.

"Are you okay?"

"Something's come up. I have to get back to Erradale."

"What on earth for?!"

Before he could answer, his cell buzzed. "The airline," Logan explained, picking up his phone. It was John Morgan.

Logan went outside to talk. "Chief?"

"Where are you, Detective?"

"L.A."

"What time did you leave town?"

"Around ten this morning. What's happened?"

"There's been a murder."

Logan felt his throat jam. "Annie," he breathed.

"Who?"

"Arianna Harte?"

"It's not her but she's involved."

Logan ran his tongue over dry lips. "In what way?"

"Tessa Cullen was murdered in Arianna Harte's house this morning. I don't need to tell you the significance of the timeline, Detective."

"I'll be there by morning," Logan said. He hung up.

A minute later, the airline called to say they'd booked him on the ten o'clock.
Fifteen

Sergeant Tully showed Annie to the interview room. She sat at the table, watching the sergeant make an elaborate show of rearranging the only other chair in the room. Plainly he wanted to discuss Tessa and sought an opening.

"The chief will be along in a minute," he said, straightening the chair again. "Coming home to a dead body...well, no one can be prepared for that, can they?"

"Sergeant Tully?"

"Yes, Ms. Harte," he said eagerly.

"Could I trouble you for some tea?"

"Tea? Fuck, I don't think we've got anything like that."

He left, closing the door.

Annie welcomed the solitude. Her eyes stung with unshed tears and the peculiar weakness in her body had made her mind so fuzzy, she could barely remember calling 911 or the ride to the station. The only thing she could recall with any clarity was kneeling beside Tessa's mutilated body, holding her lifeless hand and frantically searching for a sign that Tessa hadn't crossed over. But there had been nothing and no sign of Edmond.

The door opened and a broad, square-shaped man entered with her tea and a folder. "I'm Chief Morgan," he said, placing the mug in front of her before taking his seat. "Sergeant Tully made the tea so I cannot guarantee its quality."

Annie noted the Chief's spotless blue uniform and brisk tone. This was a diligent perfectionist and one, she decided, who would expect the same attributes in those around him.

"You are very pale, Ms. Harte," he said, frowning at her as he opened his folder to extract several papers. "Are you well enough to talk?"

"Yes."

"Please let me know if, at any time, you are unable to continue. I understand Ms. Cullen was a friend."

Annie nodded. "Do her parents know?"

"Yes. They will be here in a few minutes."

"They'll be devastated. Tessa is...was their only child. She shared a house with Amber Kitt."

He nodded. "Yes, we have advised Ms. Kitt of events and will interview her in due course. For now, I will ask you some questions. The sooner we understand what happened, the sooner we can move forward in this investigation. Ms. Cullen stayed at your house last night?"

"Yes."

"Our medical examiner is of the opinion that she fell from the upstairs landing. Her spine was broken just below the neck, in effect paralyzing her. The knife injuries were pre-mortem, including the deep slash to her throat which caused her death."

Annie's stomach roiled. "Have you...?"

"A suspect?" he finished for her. "At this point, we concentrate on establishing the sequence of events. There is no sign of forced entry. As you know, she was in your bathrobe when she was killed. After opening the door, it appears she tried to escape up the stairs. There was a struggle and Ms. Cullen was pushed. Do you agree that is the most likely scenario?"

"I—I suppose it could be," Annie answered, not sure why he wanted her opinion.

"Does anyone else reside in your home?"

"No mortal person."

"This is not a joking matter, Ms. Harte."

"I wasn't joking, Chief Morgan. Please continue."

He frowned. "Were you expecting someone to call at the house this morning?"

"No."

"Did Ms. Cullen say whether she expected company?"

"All she said was she intended to shower and go to work."

"And what time did you leave the house?"

"It was seven forty-five."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Quite sure. I do my cleaning and tidying on Saturdays because I don't open until nine. There's a lot to do."

"It seems you are very thorough, Ms. Harte."

Annie detected approval in his tone. "Yes, I am," she said. "I like to be organized."

He smiled a little.

The door opened and Sergeant Tully appeared. "Is the tea...?"

"Not now," Chief Morgan snapped, his voice cracking like a whip. The sergeant hurriedly closed the door.

"My apologies," the chief said past tight lips. "Sergeant Tully can be over zealous in his duties. So far we have ascertained that Ms. Cullen died around eight this morning."

"He waited for me to leave," Annie commented to herself. A pang of guilt swept her. In leaving Tessa alone in the house, she had given him full license.

"It would seem that way," the chief said into her thoughts. "We don't believe the killing was opportune. He or she intended to murder Ms. Cullen in your house."

Annie nodded. "Yes, that's the only place where it could be done."

He looked at her, perplexed. "Do you know exactly what time it was when you found her? You called 911 at three-fifteen p.m."

"I arrived home at twelve minutes past three because I checked my watch when I saw Tessa's car still outside. I knew at once something was wrong."

"I see. How long have you known Ms. Cullen?"

"Ever since I arrived in Erradale Bay. She came to my store looking for books on exorcisms. I was able to help."

The chief lifted an eyebrow. "I wouldn't have picked you for the type."

"What type?" Annie asked innocently.

"The type to believe that nonsense."

"The supernatural world exists, Chief Morgan," Annie told him firmly. "I assist people who have unwanted spirits in their homes."

He made a gesture with his hand, as though waving her silliness aside.

"So after this...assistance, how often did you see the victim?"

"Once or twice a week, although lately it's been less. Tessa likes the Rocket Bar. It's not really my thing."

"Yes, we are aware that Ms. Cullen frequented that particular bar. As you know, there was an incident in the parking lot, involving Detective Gauge. I only mention it because you are apparently in a relationship with him."

"We were."

"What did the detective say about your friend's allegation, Ms. Harte?"

"He didn't say anything," Annie answered stiffly.

"Come now, he must have said something on the matter."

Annie looked at the police chief squarely. "He didn't need to. He didn't assault Tessa. I'm a very good judge of character and he wouldn't do that."

Again, that faint smile. "That's hardly proof."

"There's something you must know, Chief Morgan. Tessa confessed."

"Ms. Harte, making up stories will not go well for you or Detective Gauge."

"It's true," Annie said, exasperated. "That's why she was at my house last night. She brought wine and started drinking...vented about Logan."

"Continue."

"She said her and Amber..."

Annie stopped, embarrassed.

"Her and Amber what, Ms. Harte?"

"In the Rocket parking lot, she offered Logan a threesome with her and Amber and he turned her down," Annie said on a rush to get it over with. "Tessa made up the complaint to teach him a lesson."

"How did you feel about that?"

"Furious," Annie admitted. "We..."

She fell to silence. They had parted on a quarrel and if Tessa truly had passed over, there was no putting things right between them.

"Ms. Harte, if all this is true then you must tell me everything."

"We—we argued," Annie continued. "I told her to drop the complaint but she said Logan could rot in hell. So I ordered her out of the house and she slapped me across the face. Then she said Logan was back with his ex-wife anyway, so I was wasting my time."

Chief Morgan's gaze hardened. "How did Ms. Cullen know about Nicole Gauge?"

"Tessa saw them together at the Caffeine Fix. Spoke to her."

From his raised brow, Chief Morgan apparently had no knowledge of Nicole's visit.

"Do you know the nature of the discussion?"

"Not exactly but I know Tessa flirted with Logan in front of Nicole. We argued about that as well. Her constant flirting."

"I see," he said slowly.

He leaned forward to watch her closely. "At your house, after the argument with Ms. Cullen, why didn't you take her home or call a cab."

"She fell asleep on the sofa. I put a rug over her and went upstairs to bed."

"And this morning?"

"She said she couldn't remember anything."

"And the last time you saw her alive?"

"Going upstairs. Am I a suspect, Chief Morgan?"

He answered her question with a frown. "When did you last see Detective Gauge?"

"The night Tessa made the complaint to the police."

"He was at your house?" His tone was sharp—eager.

"No, I was at his apartment when he got the call. I went home and later, Logan came to see me."

"Why?"

"To make sure I was all right."

"Why wouldn't you be?" he asked quickly.

"It was a personal matter."

"Was it to do with the victim?"

"No."

"And have you seen Detective Gauge since that night?"

She shook her head. "I thought he might be here?"

"He's away."

"Where?" Annie asked, surprised.

"Under no circumstances are you to contact him, Ms. Harte."

"Because you think he killed Tessa?!"Annie exclaimed in disgust. "That's ridiculous!"

The chief's face colored a little. "Your ex-boyfriend, Adam Armacost. Did Ms. Cullen know him?"

"Yes."

"How well?"

Annie took his meaning. "Adam wasn't involved with Tessa if that's what you're implying. But it's true, he—he was seeing someone else."

"Who?"

"Allison Patterson. She worked at the Blue Sail."

"Was it Ms. Cullen who told you about their affair?"

"Yes, she told me everything."

"Was he angry?"

"Yes," Annie said with a shiver. "In fact, he was furious."

"Enough to carry a grudge?"

"Perhaps, but he wouldn't murder her, and even if he wanted to, he wouldn't go near the house after what happened to him."

"Can you think of anyone else who might have wanted Ms. Cullen dead?"

"Yes."

The chief straightened. "Who?"

"The spirit in my house. Edmond would have been furious at Tessa for slapping me. But he's also angry at me. So you see, by killing her, he punished both of us."

From his snort of irritation, Chief Morgan's tolerance had run dry. "Ms. Harte, I know you are under considerable strain but I must remind you that a woman has been murdered in your house."

"You haven't answered my question," Annie said calmly. "Am I a suspect?"

"All I can say is that Ms. Cullen had a talent for making enemies so at this point, everyone is under suspicion. But I have no further questions for you at this time. Your house is a crime scene so you must stay elsewhere for a few days. Have you somewhere to go?"

"Yes, Bernadette Arness. But I need to get my car first."

Chief Morgan gathered up his papers and stood. "You can collect it in the morning. I'll arrange for an officer to drive you to your friend's place."

"I'd rather walk."

She would go to Bernadette's for the night, but first she had to go home and check on Edmond. He would be incensed at the intrusion of police officers, although it was unlikely he would do anything for fear the house would be closed forever.

"You are free to go," the chief said loudly, making Annie jump. As he swung open the door, Sergeant Tully hurriedly stepped back.

"My office now," the chief clipped, striding ahead of the red-faced sergeant. Annie heard their heavy steps all the way down the passage.

She was on the sidewalk when her phone rang.

"Annie, thank God."

Her heart flipped—rejoiced. "Logan."

"I got the news. Where are you?"

"Just leaving the station."

"Then you're okay?"

"Yes," she answered, hearing his relieved sigh. "Chief Morgan said you were away."

"I'm in L.A. Are the police at your house?"

"Yes, so I need to go home to talk to Edmond."

"You won't be allowed in. Do you have the key to my apartment with you?"

"Yes."

"Then go there. I'll be back in Erradale early tomorrow morning."

"Logan..."

"Just do it!"

His order generated a sense of relief. She felt so tired, so woolly-minded, it seemed far more sensible to spend the night curled up in Logan's bed.

"I'll go now," she promised.

"Good. I'll see you soon. And remember, sit tight."

He rang off.

She set out for Logan's apartment. By the time she'd unlocked his front door and stepped into the familiar untidiness, the lightheadedness had worsened, so much so, she could barely think straight. Edmond knew her whereabouts. Annie shuddered as she recalled his words...you will return.

Undressing, she slipped into bed, burying her face in the pillow, trying to draw strength from Logan's masculine scent. They were together again, only now it seemed their journey would be more perilous than ever.
Sixteen

Logan arrived home at dawn. Annie was in his front yard, pulling weeds from an abandoned flower bed in front of the porch. She came toward him in a slow, light-footed walk, her hand shielding her eyes from the low morning sun. She looked very slender in a thin white top and short green wrap skirt. When she stood before him and lowered her hand, he saw that her eyes were dull and her skin unnaturally pale, similar to before.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, gesturing toward the garden. "I was up early."

"Did you get any sleep?"

"Geraniums would do well here."

"Annie..."

"No," she said, shaking her head. The movement seemed to unbalance her as she swayed a little. Logan moved to help her but she backed away.

"Have you eaten?" she asked, brushing soil from her hands.

"A snack on the flight."

"I'll fix breakfast."

She walked up the steps ahead of him and without pausing in her strange tread went to the kitchen. Logan took his overnighter to the bedroom. Annie had made his bed, hung his clothes and dusted the furniture. He used the bathroom, washed up and switched on his cell. Three voice messages from a tense-sounding John Morgan, all ordering him to the station the minute he arrived in Erradale. Irritated, Logan deleted them.

He joined Annie in the kitchen. Table mats, plates, cups and cutlery were in a haphazard pile on the countertop and she was at the sink, rinsing out the French Press.

"Cereal or...what would you like?" she asked, setting the press on the countertop, only to start rinsing it again.

Logan took it from her. "What about I sort breakfast while you sit?"

"Perhaps eggs," she said absently. She opened the refrigerator and stared blankly at the contents. Logan pushed the door closed and gathered her in his arms. She began to cry—gasping, painful sobs that racked her body and tore at his conscience. He'd left her alone in that house of horrors. Tessa Cullen was dead and Annie's life had snapped in half.

"I couldn't cry," she sobbed into his shirt. "I answered all his questions but I couldn't cry."

"You're in shock, Annie. That's how it gets people. Numbs them, keeps them functioning, sometimes for days. Then they crash."

She clung to him so he held her tightly and smoothed her hair and let the deluge of tears run its course.

"You see it's my fault," she said after minutes had passed.

He didn't see but he held his tongue for fear of generating more self-recrimination.

She leaned back in the circle of his arms and looked up at him with haunted eyes. "I left her alone. There was so much blood, and Tessa's face...I tried to reach her...help her but she's crossed over. She would've been so frightened."

"Annie, sweetheart, don't tear yourself up over this."

He framed her face in his hands, kissing her wet cheeks and lips, filling his senses with the taste and smell of her. Christ, he'd missed her.

"I thought I'd lost you," he said, taking solace from the feel of her in his arms. "I had a feeling something had happened to you."

"You had a premonition," she informed him with grave eyes.

"Whatever it was, it got me on the next flight to New York."

She put her face back in his shirt and Logan rested his chin on her head. He had her safe but her situation was precarious, possibly dangerous given the events of yesterday although he was more concerned about the change in her. She wasn't right. She was too light, too insubstantial. A slender woman she was, but the feel of her wasn't normal. Her mind had altered as well. Usually so vital and self-assured in purpose, Annie was strangely disoriented.

He had to keep her here. Naturally, she would argue—insist she was fine and want to go home. Well, after the crime scene guys had finished with her house, he'd let her go home but only to collect some clothes and with him standing guard.

"When Chief Morgan said you were away I thought you'd gone forever," she said, pulling her head back to look up to him questioningly.

Logan kissed the tip of her nose. "You can't get rid of me that easily. I'll fix the coffee."

She gripped his shirt. "Don't go."

"It's okay, just coff..." Logan swallowed the rest of his sentence, overcome by the sight of her eyes turning bright and the sudden appearance of red on her cheeks. Against the whiteness of her skin, the signs of her arousal were heightened, powerful in their effect. In a heartbeat, Logan's groin reacted.

"What about you rest and we'll eat later?" he said, easing her away—out of range of his pants.

Before he could stop her, her hand was on him. When she looked up to his eyes, she seemed dazed—outside herself.

"Sweetheart, this isn't the time."

"Love me."

"Not like this."

"Please!"

"Annie, you're obviously not well."

"Don't you see? I may never see you again."

"Of course you will. Why would you think that?"

"No, you don't understand."

"Then make me understand. Tell me."

Her response was immediate and shocking in its wildness. She ripped off her tank top and bra, leaving them where they fell. Dragging down her panties and tossing them away, along with her shoes, she pulled up her skirt in crude invitation. Logan, at a loss what to do, lifted her and her legs wrapped him in a flash. She felt lighter than air.

Carrying her to the bedroom, he laid her on the bed.

"Sleep," he ordered, trying to disentangle himself from her arms and legs.

But Annie gripped his shirt collar and pulled herself up to kiss him, plunging her tongue deep. Logan groaned at the wantonness in her. Always with Annie, it was a dream and never more so than in this desperate, blistering kiss. He felt as if he were on a course to the sun itself. With wings made of wax.

Logan pulled back, seeking understanding in her eyes.

"Don't," she said, looking away.

"What are you hiding, Annie?"

"I must have you!"

He lay on her, returning her kisses, wanting her more than he ever had, and probably because of it, loathe to take her in this vulnerable, strangely hypersexualized state.

"Make me come," she demanded, shoving her hand between their bodies to tug at his zipper.

Logan, shorn of the last of his resistance, raised his hips so she could undo his pants. She worked him free, then lay back and lifting her hips, offered herself.

"Do it!"

Her impassioned plea triggered his own craving for satiation. He reached for a condom on the bedside table but Annie clasped his arm.

"No! I want to feel you."

Logan was past clear thought. Raising himself on his elbows, he pressed into her wetness. The sensation of being inside her without a condom made their connection even more dreamlike, more fantastic. He felt her ankles lock behind him and her hands tear open his shirt.

With a growl, and relinquishing all sensation other than her wet heat, Logan surged into her, exulting in the feel of skin on skin, sex on sex.

"God, Annie," he groaned. "You feel amazing."

She bucked like a wild thing under him, fisting his skin as he thrust deep. She was a glorious machine of pure lust—twisting and thrashing, her head thrown back, each drive into her eliciting low throaty sounds from deep in her throat. Logan snarled his pleasure, reveling in the raw carnality of their union. He'd never had sex like this. Primal. Animalistic. Abandoned.

She dug her nails into his shoulders. "Do it harder!"

He worked her faster, desperate to come but delaying his ecstasy, needing more of the fabulous ride. Pushing up on his hands, he watched her slim body arching to his relentless onslaught. Against her unnaturally white skin, her nipples jutted like chocolate kisses and her pubic hair circled his shaft in a dark halo.

Using one arm to support his weight, he slid a hand under her butt, raising her to take them both to completion. Annie's hands went to the headboard to grip the slats and when she came, it wasn't on her usual soft cries but with a full-blooded scream. Logan released right after her, shouting his own fulfillment as her muscles held him captive until he was done.

Logan fell down, shaking.

Under him, she lay still.

He held her tightly, reluctant to leave her warmth. Only when she stirred did he withdraw. Propping himself on an elbow, he looked down at her face, waiting for her to acknowledge him. When she finally met his gaze, he saw the vivid green had dulled.

"Annie, what the hell just happened?"

"You need to tell me, Arianna," he urged when she didn't answer.

"Not that," she said fiercely. "He calls me that."

"Who does? Adam?"

"It wants me to know."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's not important."

"You're different, Annie. Surely you know that?"

"Didn't you like the way I fucked?"

Logan winced at the crudeness. "Of course I liked it but it's not you. And you never use that word."

"Tessa used it."

"You're nothing like Tessa."

"She liked threesomes. Do you?"

Logan knew where this was going. "No."

"Have you had a threesome?"

"Yeah, once," he admitted. "And you haven't answered my question."

She stared at the ceiling. "Tessa confessed but I already knew her lie. She made me so angry and we argued. She slapped me. It enraged him. That's why he threw her down the stairs and did those terrible things."

Logan stared at her. "You mean the spook?"

She nodded, her eyes still on the ceiling.

"Did he tell you?"

"He wasn't there to ask but I know it was him. If I hadn't been so angry with Tessa, I could've sensed his presence and taken her from the house."

All the way home, a hundred scenarios had played out in Logan's mind but not this one. It made sense. The spirit's modus operandi for dispatching the unwelcome but it was hardly a credible line of enquiry into a homicide.

Logan dropped down to hold her close again. "Jesus, Annie, he could have killed you."

"He doesn't want me dead," she murmured.

She tensed and Logan realized she hadn't intended to say the words.

"So what does he want?"

His practised eye saw the lie form in her eyes before it manifested on her lips. "He wants my company."

"You're a poor liar, Annie. That night when you looked like Emmaline. What happened after I left?"

"I went to bed."

"I don't believe you," Logan said bluntly. "He did something. Now he's done it again...made you like this."

She considered him briefly before looking away. When she spoke, he heard bitterness.

"Edmond has to be stopped and only I can do that."

"Why do you need to stop him?" Logan demanded, his mind filling with wild thoughts of what lay waiting for her in that death house. "Leave him to his house. Stay here until you find somewhere to live."

She frowned. "He has my home."

Logan rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Stop lying to me. What else is going on?"

She continued to frown, not answering.

"Tell me, Annie."

"Don't you understand?!" she exclaimed, "I must help Emmaline and Thomas and—and Tessa!"

"Why do you need to help them? It's too late for them."

"They need me!"

Logan took her hand. It felt very small and light in his. "And if you go back to that house, what will happen to you?"

She looked at him, her face set, her eyes hard. "There is work to be done."

"Right, that settles it," Logan barked, rolling out of bed. "You're staying here. I'll grab a shower and we'll talk over breakfast. And don't even think of running out on me again."

He was at the bathroom door when she spoke.

"Illusions."

Logan stopped. "What?"

"He makes illusions except they're real."

"That's a contradiction."

"You saw and touched the ice. It was an illusion."

He returned to sit on the edge of the bed, curious despite the nonsense of her words. "Is that how he made you look like Emmaline?"

"Yes."

"What happened after I left the house?"

Instantly, her face became as stone. She stood, dropped her wrap skirt and walked to the bathroom. "I'll shower first. I won't be long," she said without turning. She closed the door.

Logan sat looking after her, engulfed in dread. Her refusal to confide in him only confirmed his suspicions that something was going on in that house that Annie could not control. In her deluded mind—and it could only be delusion—she was trying to protect him.

Resigned to accepting her obstinacy, at least for the present, he changed into jeans, collected her clothes from the kitchen and left them on the bed.

He had coffee and scrambled eggs prepared when she appeared in one of his long T-shirts, her dark blonde hair in wet tendrils down her back.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"A little," she answered, sliding onto a stool.

Logan poured coffees and set a plate of eggs in front of her. Evidently she felt better as she cleaned most of her plate and sipped at her coffee.

"Chief Morgan thinks Adam might have done it," she said out of the blue. "Or me."

"Or me," Logan noted wryly.

"Oh, I put him straight on that. I told him it was the spirit."

Logan laughed, despite the seriousness of their topic. "Jesus, that wouldn't have gone down well."

She smiled briefly and for one glorious instant, the room became sunshine.

"Emmaline and Thomas," she said, rubbing at her wedding finger. "Poor, poor lovers."

Logan exploded in frustration. "For God's sake, Annie, you can never return to that damned house, you know that don't you?!"

"You worry too much about me," she said. "Everything will be all right." She slipped off her stool and began to clear the countertop. "Chief Morgan will be expecting you at the station, won't he?"

Logan nodded. "Yeah, I'll have to go in or he'll be on my doorstep but..."

"Then go," she said firmly.

Beaten, Logan went to the bedroom, decided against a shower and finished dressing. He grabbed his duty holster and cuffs and by the time he was back in the kitchen, Annie had abandoned her tidying and was back on her stool, texting.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

She threw him a startled gaze. "Oh...yes. Bernadette has offered me her spare room. I'll go there this morning."

"Can't you stay here? At least for a day or two?"

"I told Chief Morgan I'd be at Bernadette's. Besides, she has clothes I can borrow and she did say she'd like the company."

"Then, I'll drop you. It's on my way."

"I'd rather walk."

"I'd feel better if I drove you."

"No," she said decisively. "The walk will do me good."

She put her phone in her bag and went to the bedroom. He followed in hope of persuading her to stay but she didn't seem to be aware of his presence. He watched her slip off his T-shirt, fold it in her typically neat fashion and place it on the bed. Her naked fragility displayed a stark contrast to the fiercely passionate woman of minutes ago. Logan doubted she could stand up to a stiff breeze let alone walk her way to town.

He hated that she did not trust him with her secret. He hated that the traits he so admired in her—her independence and determination—were the very things that could destroy her.

"Why did you say you may never see me again?" he asked in a flood of anxiety.

"It doesn't matter now," she replied, looking away and Logan knew she'd put herself beyond his questions.

He returned to the kitchen to wait.

Five minutes later, she appeared in the doorway, dressed. "You might as well go," she said.

Logan stood on the spot, wavering, reluctant to leave. Then, as if she'd divined his thoughts, she put herself in his arms. "I need you to have faith in me, Logan."

Faith he was short of but protest held no sway under Annie's determination.

"Promise you'll go straight to Bernadette's," he said into her damp hair. "And call me when you get there."

Her head nodded under his chin. "I will."

He was in his car when she appeared on the porch to watch him leave. Standing there, so pale and slight in appearance, she seemed no longer part of this world. And suddenly, with an utter clarity of mind, Logan realized he couldn't go forward in his life without her. Losing Annie would be the loss of existence itself.

He was bound to her.
Seventeen

This morning Emmaline called to her. A whisper from far away, yet so bright and clear, she might have been standing at Annie's elbow. Somehow, Emmaline had emerged from the dark and for the first time since her nightmare began, Annie felt hope in her heart. Emmaline's gift was still strong. Perhaps, with resolve and good fortune, they could end the monster that was Edmond Wilde.

His power reached far beyond Erradale Bay—a proposition too implausible, too horrific to comprehend, even now. Yet the facts lay before her. With every mile of the journey to Millwood, Edmond's grip on her body had tightened as if he knew her intent. She could not survive another day of his evil.

"Annie, you're ill with grief. I shouldn't have brought you."

Annie sighed and turned to meet Bernadette's worried gaze. Dear Bernadette. She was so anxious for her wellbeing and had argued so vigorously against the trip. In the end Annie had resorted to a deception to secure her friend's cooperation, telling her in very dramatic tones, that Emmaline knew Tessa's murderer and would only disclose the name to Annie in person. It held some truth but, nonetheless, Annie disliked having to lie.

"Once I move around I'll be fine," Annie said, embellishing her assurance with a confident smile. It did not relax Bernadette's furrowed brow. "Please don't worry, Bernadette. I have to do this."

Sliding from the passenger seat of Bernadette's car and gripping the door for stability, Annie pulled herself upright. Dizziness swept her but she held steady until it passed.

"Why can't the police deal with this?" Bernadette asked, climbing out of the driver's seat to look at Annie forlornly.

"I'm the only one who can communicate with her," Annie answered. She ventured a step, heartened by the small surge of strength to her limbs. "See, I'm much better."

"You don't look better. What did the doctor say?"

"I haven't seen one," Annie confessed, wincing at her friend's look of horror.

"Oh, God, I thought you had. Perhaps one here could help?"

"I'll go when we get home," Annie promised with an appeasing smile.

Bernadette tisked. "Surely this could have waited until tomorrow?"

Annie shook her head, the action blurring Bernadette's face. "No, I must see her today."

"Thirty minutes and then I'm taking you to a doctor."

"Deal," Annie conceded. She would have preferred Logan to drive her to Millwood but to include him in this visit was out of the question. Inevitably he would learn of the spirit's indecent proposal and armed with the knowledge, there would be no stopping him. Besides, whatever Emmaline had to say by way of advice or revelation, it commanded no distraction—no rush to action by an overprotective lover. It required a steady head.

Her wantonness this morning had both confused and inflamed him. True, her behavior was driven by a fear that it could be their last time together but her compulsion for the act, executed without tenderness or affection, had been orchestrated by Edmond as a demonstration of his hold over her. Her arousal had come from nowhere and it was only when she'd screamed her release had she'd realized the full extent of Edmond's depraved manipulation.

She felt Bernadette's arm slide around her shoulders. "Good God woman, you feel like you're about to break."

"I texted Josh I'd meet him at noon," Annie said, leaning gratefully into her friend's sturdy hold. "He's there now...by the front door."

Bernadette guided her across the parking lot.

"Good to see you again, Ms. Harte," Josh said with the formality of one trained to greet visitors to an exclusive establishment. He ducked down to peer at her. "You okay?"

Annie roused a rudimentary smile. "Please call me Annie and I'm fine. This is my friend, Bernadette."

He shook Bernadette's hand, his eyes still on Annie. "You look like...?"

"I'm absolutely fine," Annie said firmly to put the matter to rest. "How is she?"

"Not good. She collapsed early this morning. Doctor says she won't last more than a day or two. And she keeps talking about someone. I couldn't make out the name."

"It's Edmond Wilde. He was...is a presence in her house."

"The guy you mentioned before? You know him?"

"Oh, we've met," Annie said with a bleak smile. She turned to Bernadette. "Will you be okay to wait?"

Bernadette pursed her lips. "I suppose I could sit on the beach for a few minutes."

"I'll be as quick as I can."

"Thirty minutes. Then we leave."

Annie kissed her cheek. "Thanks, Bernadette. Wear sunscreen won't you. The noon sun burns?"

The advice was futile. Bernadette's dark tan, today accentuated by her white shorts and top, displayed years of noon sun. In Annie's opinion, the twenty-nine-year-old was much too sunbaked for safety and worse, she never wore a hat. But apart from those lapses in judgement, she was in all other respects, a sensible woman.

Bernadette grabbed her bag from the car and strode off across the lawn toward the beach.

"This way," said Josh, leading Annie to the rear of the building and unlocking the fire exit door. He grinned as he waited for her to enter. "It's best old Blackie doesn't know you're here. No visitors allowed to see Miss Emmaline now. Not that she had any apart from you."

"I hope you won't get into trouble for this, Josh."

He shrugged. "No problem."

Standing in the air-conditioned passage, Annie breathed deep, feeling better for the cool air.

"Hope you're up for a climb," Josh said, leading her to the stairwell.

Four flights later and with Josh supporting her, Annie stepped into a long corridor of plush red carpet and gold-numbered doors. As they moved along the passage, Annie saw a spirit—an elderly woman outside door 237. The woman looked at her but Annie pretended not to notice.

Josh opened the door to room 251. "Text me when you're ready to leave."

He closed the door after her.

Annie's first impression of the room was pinkness—curtains, wallpaper, rugs, bedspread and roses. Emmaline herself was swathed in a pink shawl. Arranged against the pillows on her bed, she stared straight ahead, her fingers plucking at the bedspread. She had the pallor of impending death.

Annie pulled a chair close to the bed. "Emmaline."

The eyes turned from their vacancy to study her.

"It's Annie."

The faded green sharpened to awareness. "Oh sweet girl, I knew you would come."

"I sensed you calling me, Emmaline. You have not lost your gift."

Emmaline smiled. "It was always strong. A curse and a blessing." Her eyes turned sad as they surveyed Annie's face. "I see he has you, child."

Emmaline's lucidity did not surprise Annie. This morning's summons had come from a knowing mind—a mind strengthened by a renewed will, ironically through Edmond's own malice.

Annie took the thin hand. "Yes, he has me but what can I do to help you, Emmaline?"

Emmaline shook her head. "There is nothing anyone can do. You see, by warning you that day, I betrayed him. His hatred knows no bounds."

"Tell me what must be done to stop him!" Annie said passionately. "He murdered my friend! She was alone in the house and he killed her! So you see he must be pushed all the way to hell!"

"Edmond is too strong."

"How can he be so powerful? How can he reach beyond the house...the town?"

"He couldn't. Not until...."

A deep sorrow came over Emmaline's features. "As a child," she began softly, "I rarely saw Edmond. He stayed in the small upstairs room overlooking the street. It wasn't used and the servants rarely went in there because of Edmond's chill. Sometimes he would appear on the landing as I came up the stairs but he never acknowledged me. I had the impression he disliked children."

"Did your mother know of him?"

Emmaline smiled. "Once, I told her about him. She said he was an imaginary friend and would go away."

"What did he look like?"

"White-faced with black curly hair and beard. It was not an attractive face but his fine manners made him quite charming. When I turned sixteen, Edmond began to wait for me in the passage and he would follow me about the house. For some reason he wanted my company and I assumed it to be motivated by loneliness. We spent many hours talking in that front room. He spoke of growing up in Boston, his love of opera and grand balls and how he missed those things. In those early days he made a pleasant companion but he always had a melancholy about him and if I posed a question he did not like, he would disappear, sometimes for days."

"Did he speak of his wife, Charlotte?"

"Only once. It was the day of my nineteenth birthday. He told me Charlotte had deceived him."

"I think she intended to leave him," Annie said, recalling Edmond's fury at her question on the matter. "Perhaps he murdered her."

"Perhaps."

"Did Edmond ever mention his own death?"

Emmaline gave a sharp cry. Annie reached for the alarm but Emmaline gripped her arm with surprising strength. "Edmond lives!" she said fiercely.

"A spirit cannot live, Emmaline," Annie answered soothingly, taking the frail hand in her own. "You need to rest now. I will find a way to force Edmond to the other side."

"I gave myself."

Annie squeezed Emmaline's fingers affectionately. "I know. You told me Thomas carried you up the stairs."

Emmaline pulled her hand free, her voice urgent. "No, no! It was after Thomas that I lay with Edmond."

"He forced you, Emmaline, just as he tried to force me."

"No, he did not force me in the way you mean."

Annie could not prevent a gasp of shock.

"He became Thomas," Emmaline whispered in answer to Annie's silent query.

"I don't understand."

"Thomas lives within Edmond," Emmaline cried.

Annie's breath stalled in her throat. "How—how can that be?"

"Edmond took him...took his mortality...his life-force."

Suddenly, it all became horrifyingly clear. Edmond existed between mortal and spirit. He lived, yet didn't live. The fair haired man who had danced her around the room was not an illusion but Emmaline's fiancé, controlled by the mind and spirit of Edmond.

With trembling hands, Annie retrieved the photo of Thomas from her purse and placed it in Emmaline's thin fingers. "Is this him?"

"Yes, that's my Thomas," Emmaline said, holding the photo close to her eyes. "He looks so frightened. Where did you get this?"

"From Beth's album."

"I didn't know Beth was in the house," Emmaline said sadly. "She must have come to say good-bye. I never saw her again but it was for the best. Edmond would have killed her as, after that day, he became insanely jealous."

"Tell me about Thomas. What was he like?"

Emmaline's expression turned soft. "His name was Thomas Thaddeus Halberd. He was a physician. A kind and gentle man and a wonderful...lover."

"I thought as much," Annie said with a smile.

"For months he courted me but I kept him from the house because of Edmond. Then after Mother died, Edmond disappeared completely. I didn't question it as I thought he had crossed over. So I invited Thomas to the house. Oh, those were happy times. How we laughed and danced and loved."

"What happened?"

"On the day we were to be married, I was upstairs packing. Thomas had taken a position at a hospital in New York and we were to leave for the city. He was downstairs when I heard him call my name. He sounded so afraid, I rushed to the landing. I saw Thomas on the stairs. He shouted at me to go down the fire ladder outside my bedroom. Then Edmond appeared between us."

Emmaline's body jerked. Again Annie reached for the alarm, but Emmaline shook her head. "It is too late for me and I have little time left. You must know."

Emmaline took a moment to compose herself and when she continued, it came as an anguished whisper. "Something black covered Thomas' face. When it lifted, I thought he was all right but then I saw the black eyes and the ugly features and I knew it was Edmond standing before me. He had taken my beloved Thomas."

"Oh dear God, Emmaline. He feeds on Thomas' energy."

Emmaline nodded. "From then on, Edmond had a new, terrible power. He could make illusions. I never knew how he did it but they were so real, it was terrifying. I wanted to kill myself and pass over but Edmond never let me out of his presence."

"He trapped you for all those years," Annie said tearfully.

Emmaline stroked Annie's cheek. "Yes, and now he wants you as he once wanted me. He makes you weak to force your return to the house."

"Edmond promised to leave if I gave him one night," Annie said with a shudder.

At the words, Emmaline's fingers clasped Annie's arm. "He lies. He will use his illusions to prey on you—make your body desire him. Edmond's appetite is endless. Morning and night he would spin his evil illusion and I would give myself, wanting him despite my hatred. I hoped his desire for me would eventually pass and he would release Thomas but as I aged, Edmond made me look young for his depraved attentions. Finally I lost my mind and he no longer came to my bed. When I was taken away, he watched from the upstairs window. I saw him smile."

"Oh Emmaline, what can I do to make him suffer?!"

"There is nothing, my sweet girl. Edmond exists between life and death. Exorcism does not work. He will never leave this world."

"There is a man who has no fear of him. It worries Edmond a great deal."

An immediate interest showed in Emmaline's eyes. "This man must be strong or Edmond would have taken his life-force."

"Yes, he's very strong," Annie agreed, smiling at the memory of Logan bursting into her living room with gun drawn. "And determined."

"He is your lover?"

Annie nodded, surprised at the eagerness in Emmaline's eyes.

"And you desire him more than any other man?"

"Oh, yes," Annie said with a deep sigh. "I love him."

"Does Edmond know this?"

"I have professed otherwise but yes, he knows."

"Then perhaps...."

"Tell me, please?"

"Once, after I had lain with Edmond, I told him he could never compare to Thomas as a lover." A blush tinged her cheeks. "I laughed at him, said that even with his illusions he could not make me...do you know what I mean?"

"Yes, I do."

"He became very angry—angrier than I'd ever seen him and, suddenly, his eyes became hazel. I was so shaken, so frightened at the transformation, I flung myself from the bed but Edmond seized my arm."

"What happened?" Annie asked breathlessly.

"Even in my weakness, I was able to pull from his grip."

"Oh my God, Edmond became mortal!"

Emmaline nodded. "For a few seconds he was the decayed, mortal form of Thomas. Perhaps, had I been in possession of a weapon, I could have destroyed him to release my beloved's spirit. But after that one time, he did not repeat his mistake."

"Then I must make him mortal," declared Annie.

"But my dear girl, even if you could enrage him to that state, it would be but a second or two and you are now so weak."

Emmaline was right. It would be difficult. Yet Edmond would be equally weak. He would be nothing but wasted muscle and brittle bone. A shell composed of the remnants of a physical being.

"I can do it," Annie said firmly.

Emmaline took the ruby ring from her finger. "Then take this. The sight of it will infuriate him and it may distract him for a time."

"I cannot take your engagement ring. It is too precious to you."

"Take it and wear it for the man you love," Emmaline said, sliding the ring on Annie's wedding finger.

Annie rubbed her thumb over the stone. "I will release Thomas and when he is free, he will pass over to wait for you."

"No, sweet girl, I will wait for Thomas," said Emmaline, her lips quivering into a small smile.

"Please don't leave," Annie begged. "Stay until Edmond is gone and I can return the ring to you."

Emmaline's eyes fluttered closed. Annie sent a hurried text to Josh and within a minute he appeared, his face flashing alarm at the sight of Annie on her feet and rushing at him.

"I won't let her die until Edmond Wilde is gone forever!" she declared, pushing past him into the passage. "I have to hurry."

She started along the passage, her body and mind invigorated by the imperative of her mission.

"What's going on?" Josh asked, catching up.

"Edmond is killing her...and me."

He took her arm. "He's here?"

"In a way. He's a spirit."

"You see spirits?!"

"Yes I do," Annie said impatiently. "I have to stop him."

"Fuck...sorry. So those ghosts she talks about...they're real?!"

"Of course!"

Her confirmation was met with stunned silence which continued to the parking lot. Annie, her breath coming in ragged gasps from the exertion, found Bernadette in the car, feverishly stabbing a finger at her phone.

"I've been trying to call you but as usual you're on voicemail," she grumbled. "Heavens girl, you look..."

"We must leave right now." Annie interjected, sliding into the passenger seat. "Josh, can you sit with Emmaline for the rest of the afternoon? If anything happens, you must call me immediately. It's very important."

"Will do," he said, staring at her as though she was one of Emmaline's spirits.

"Take me to Oak Lane," Annie ordered Bernadette, shaking her head at Bernadette's protesting face. "Don't argue with me."

"This is ridiculous. I'm taking you to a doctor."

"A doctor cannot help me. Do as I say."

Plainly Bernadette was irate at being bossed but she fired the ignition and drove. "Why do you have to go to your house?" she demanded when they were back on the highway.

"It's the only way to save Emmaline and me."

"What on earth are you talking about? Did she tell you who murdered Tessa?"

"I already knew."

"Who is it?"

Annie leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. "I'll explain it all later. I need to rest now."

She must prepare her mind for this confrontation with Edmond. It carried great risk and failure would bring a fate worse than death. Despite his obsession with her—his professed grand desire—he would not stand a betrayal such as she intended. She had but one course of action. As odious as the prospect was, she had to lie with him. Then at the peak of his passion she would tell him he could not satisfy her. She would show him the ring and taunt him with its significance. Of its expression of love and commitment between two people, something he would never know. She would tell him of her love for Logan and his mastery at lovemaking. It would send Edmond into the worst fury possible. Then when he became mortal...in that instant when he was without his terrible power, she would strike.

Annie was still mentally rehearsing her plan when Bernadette pulled into Oak Lane an hour later. As Annie stood on the sidewalk in front of her home, she sensed Emmaline calling her. For a short time it continued—the faint, broken sounds of a life breathing its last. Then it stopped.

Annie held back her grief. Edmond would be watching her from the upstairs window, glowing with satisfaction at the pain he had caused.

"Annie, your phone's ringing."

"It doesn't matter now," Annie said sadly, hugging Bernadette. "I must go."

"I don't like this at all. Please let me take you to the doctor."

"Go home, Bernadette. I'll be along in a little while."

Annie waited on the sidewalk until Bernadette's car had turned the corner at the end of the lane. She walked up the cobblestone path, past the bright display of petunias and onto her porch. Pulling aside the police tape, she opened the door to the horror that awaited her. Immediately, she was met with coldness, so penetrating, so utterly mind-numbing, she could scarcely hold a thought in her head. She could not guess his motivation for the unwelcome environment other than he knew her intention. If so, her quest for justice would not be realized.

Closing the door, she made for the kitchen, pausing every few steps to sense the spirit's whereabouts. He was still upstairs. Annie slipped a thin paring knife in her bag, her mind recoiling at its purpose. This would be murder—the murder of Thomas Halberd's body. When it came time to act, could she bring herself to thrust the blade into living flesh?

Her teeth chattering from the biting cold, Annie returned to the living room and stood at the bottom of the stairs. The chalk outline where Tessa's body had lain, glowed white against the blood-soaked floorboards.

Gathering her vengeance about her like an iron shawl, she began her ascent. She felt invisible hands reach for her, touch her intimately. He was preparing her for their consummation. Oh, how sweet it would be to deny him. To fling herself down the stairs and end it all.

Annie did not do that.

Her love for Logan kept her alive. 
Eighteen

"Six news crews," Tully whooped when Logan walked into the station. "The whole fucking state knows about it."

"Not surprising with you on the job," Logan snapped uncharitably.

"The town's never had such a juicy killing," Tully went on gleefully from behind the front desk. "You still shagging the friend?"

Logan, in half-stride toward the passage, turned and stalked across to Tully, reigning in his urge to smack the grin off the sergeant's fat face.

"This is a murder investigation, Sergeant. You're to keep your mouth zipped and I mean zipped! No jokes. No mouthing off. No discussing the case with the media or anyone else. That includes your colleagues. Are we clear?!"

Tully's mouth opened, then apparently lost for a rejoinder, closed again.

"Good," Logan said. "Keep it like that."

"The boss wants to see you in his office," Tully muttered sullenly as Logan started again for the passage.

Logan went to his own office. She hadn't called. Something was wrong. He rang her cell only to get her voicemail. Fuck, why couldn't she answer her damned phone for once? He tried Bernadette's home landline and, getting no answer, rang her store. The assistant said Bernadette had gone to the flower market. She didn't know if Annie was with her.

Leaning back in his chair, Logan closed his eyes, trying to relax but unable to stem his worry. Annie wouldn't have bothered with a flower market in her condition. If she'd gone to her store, the assistant would've seen her. Her house was cordoned off so she wouldn't go there.

Would she?

"Detective."

John Morgan stood in the doorway. Logan got to his feet anticipating—hoping for a confrontation as an excuse to leave. Instead, the chief sat down in the visitor's chair, hunched himself forward and stared at the floor.

"Everything okay, John?" Logan asked, back in his seat.

John looked up at Logan dully. "There's a media briefing in ten minutes. It'll be a damned sideshow. I want you there."

"Bad idea. I'm the prime suspect."

John gave a rigid smile. "Ms. Harte maintains you're innocent. Is she right?" He raised a hand. "Don't answer that. The media aren't aware of the situation. If you're not in attendance, they'll want to know why."

"They'll find out sooner or later."

"By then we'll have arrested the perp," the chief said, looking at Logan hopefully. "You ever hear about that house having a ghost?"

"Just rumors."

"The reason I ask is because Arianna Harte pretty much said it was the killer."

"Really?" Logan answered, acting surprised.

"The poor woman's confused...hallucinating. Not surprising after what she's been through. Still, it'll have to be put to rest with the media."

"What else did she say?"

"That her and Ms. Cullen argued the night before the murder...asked if she was a suspect."

"Annie's a gentle soul. Not capable of violence."

"That's the impression I got," John agreed with a sigh. "She did admit her former boyfriend, Adam Armacost, was angry at the Cullen woman. Apparently she spilled the beans on some affair he'd had with a waitress but insists he wouldn't go near the house. What do you think?"

At that point, Logan realized the impossibility of his situation. If Annie was right about the spirit being the killer, and he was inclined to believe her, there was no resolving the case.

"If Armacost wanted Tessa dead, he'd have done it sooner and in less spectacular fashion," Logan said, hoping it would be enough to exclude Armacost as a suspect, then added to nail the point, "this killing was too hate-fueled for a guy caught banging a waitress."

The chief nodded. "I expect you're right. There is another line of inquiry. Amber Kitt said she and Ms. Cullen met a local farm hand by the name of Bowman in the Rocket Bar—the same night you spoke to her in the parking lot. They went home with him but it didn't go well. Apparently, Ms. Cullen spent the whole time cursing you. When Bowman tried to get friendly she went at him with a full bottle of bourbon. Nasty business."

Logan could envision the scene. After a night of licking her wounds in the bar, it wouldn't have taken much to set Tessa off.

"If Bowman was mad enough to attack her, he'd have done it on the spot."

"Right again," the chief agreed gloomily.

"Any prints?"

"Ms. Cullen's on the handrail and a few unidentified, probably Armacost. Sergeant Tully's from the call out over the ice and of course...yours," he finished with a pointed look at Logan.

"DNA?"

"Still processing but unlikely to be anything useful. The pathologist says the fall down the stairs broke her spine at C7 so she couldn't have fought back. The slashes to her face and body were all pre-mortem. The death cut was to her throat." He leaned forward in his chair and Logan knew in a flash what was coming, "Arianna Harte told me Nicole was with you in the Caffeine Fix a few days ago."

"Yeah," Logan admitted, wishing Annie wasn't always so honest. "She came to tell me she's moved to New York."

"I understand Ms. Cullen arrived and apparently gave the wrong impression to your ex-wife."

"It was nothing," Logan replied nonchalantly. "Nicole left town shortly after. I haven't heard from her since."

"It's on file that Nicole has serious psychological problems. I will need to interview her."

"I'll do it."

Logan's pride made it difficult to feign ignorance of investigative protocol.

"As you very well know, Detective, that would undermine the whole case. Are you concealing something?"

"As I said, I'll do it."

The insubordination pitched John to his feet. "Logan, I have great respect for your ability but this is unacceptable."

Logan found his own feet. "Dammit, John, I'm the obvious killer. There's motive—Tessa Cullen hated my guts and as for opportunity...I was still in Erradale yesterday morning. I had ample time to kill her."

"I am well aware of the situation. I am also aware that you did not sexually assault her."

"Go on."

"I interviewed the witness who saw you and Ms. Cullen in the parking lot. He knew her and Ms. Kitt very well, if you get my drift. He said she followed you to your vehicle and pushed against you before she screamed. The investigation into the assault is over."

"That hardly eliminates me as a suspect. I had no idea what the guy would say."

"Regardless of the situation, Detective, I still need to interview your ex-wife."

Logan moved to stand directly in front of the chief, his considerable height advantage forcing John to look up. "I don't want her involved unless it's absolutely necessary."

Logan couldn't discount Nicole as the killer. Given the right set of circumstances and mindset, almost anyone could be pushed to kill. But he couldn't see Nicole planning and executing such a bloodied killing. It wasn't her style. Nicole's weapons of choice were her body and her words and she used both to devastating effect. No, Annie's theory had to be the correct one.

"Look, John, I'll check on Nicole. If she was in town yesterday, I'll bring her in."

"Fair enough," John said resignedly. He resumed his seat and lapsed into a pensive silence while Logan sat down and turned his thoughts to the matter of Annie's whereabouts. He was half way through a text to her when John spoke.

"Is it possible that Arianna Harte was the intended victim?"

"No, it's not possible."

"How can you be so sure?"

How? The spirit wanted Annie alive although the knowledge gave him no relief. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

The chief's brow rose but he said nothing.

"Keep an open mind on this case, John. A very open mind."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning there are more things in heaven and earth."

John looked at his watch, stood and straightened his tie. "I'll leave the philosophy to you, Detective. Right now, we have a circus to face."

"This better be short," Logan said irritably, standing and pocketing his phone. He disliked dealing with the media, especially when it involved a homicide. Facts were invariably embellished to add to the endless public speculation. This case came ready-made for sensationalism.

"We'll follow the usual line," John said as he opened the door. "The police are investigating a number of leads and we have every confidence in making an arrest in the near future."

Logan followed the chief down the passage and into the duty room now packed to overflowing with reporters and what appeared to be half the town. A hush descended as John made his way to the front of the throng.

"Has the ghost fessed up?" an elderly man shouted. The room rippled with laughter.

"Howya planning to bring it downtown, Chief?" shouted another, generating more hilarity.

"I'll say this once and only once," John announced with arms set rigidly at his sides. "This briefing will be conducted with respect for the victim. For those of you who do not reside in Erradale Bay, I'm Chief John Morgan and this is Detective Logan Gauge. As you know, the victim was murdered at Four Oak Lane early yesterday morning. We are following a number of leads and have every confidence of making an arrest in the next few days."

An attractive redhead, who had to be an out-of-towner or Logan would have committed her to memory, thrust a microphone under the chief's chin. "What is your position on the house being haunted, Chief Morgan?"

Logan saw John's mouth twist. "We are aware the house has a certain reputation but this is a murder inquiry and I ask that you and your colleagues put the supernatural claptrap aside and focus on the facts."

The redhead smoothly turned her attention to Logan, who had positioned himself close to the door for a quick getaway. She gave him a visual once over before looking up at him with a 'call me later' smile. "What do you think, Detective Gauge? Is there any truth to the haunting?"

"I subscribe to the facts of the case," Logan answered, directing a look to John in expectation that he would add something. Instead the chief stood straight, eyes directed at the back wall. Evidently, he had lost his appetite for this line of questioning.

"Any particular leads, Detective?" someone asked from the back of the room.

"As Chief Morgan stated, we are following several lines of inquiry."

An overweight, red-faced local reporter, whom Logan knew to be another of Tully's drinking pals, shuffled forward and established himself directly in front of Logan.

"Connolly, Erradale Tribune," he announced proudly, looking around at the crowd.

"What's your question, Mr. Connolly?"

Connolly cleared his throat several times while everyone waited. "Apparently there was an incident at the house not long ago. Something to do with ice appearing out of nowhere. Any connection to the murder?"

"None whatsoever," Logan answered. "That was a prank. This is a murder."

"The woman who lives there...Arianna Harte. She claims to be a psychic or something. Anything to say on that?"

"People make all sorts of claims."

"From what I understand," Connolly continued with a smirk, "you know Ms. Harte very well. Is she as crazy as old Miss Emmaline?"

"I don't respond to those kinds of questions, Mr. Connolly." Logan swept a look over the crowd. "Now if anyone has something to ask about the case..."

"But you are dating her," Connolly persisted, widening his smirk. "Isn't that a conflict of interest?"

"No comment."

Connolly, clearly enjoying his limelight, all but hooted his next question. "The murder victim accused you of sexual assault. That makes you a suspect, right?"

One day he'd swing for Tully. "Again, no comment."

John Morgan stepped forward, spreading his arms wide in a sheep-herding manner. "Right folks, that's all for now."

No one moved. A barrage of questions flew at the chief. "Ladies and gentlemen, please...!"

Logan walked out. From the passage he could hear John's fractious voice still calling for order although Logan doubted he'd get it now. The press had a new, more salacious angle to work on—hand-delivered by Jock Tully.

Logan exited the station by the back door, not trusting himself to be within punching range of the sergeant. Seated in the Navigator, he checked his phone. No communication from Annie. He left a voice message, ordering her to make contact. If she didn't call in the next twenty minutes, he'd go find her.

***

Fifteen minutes and nothing.

Draining his scotch, Logan grabbed his phone and keys and was at his front door when the bell chimed. Flinging open the door, hoping—praying—for Annie, he found himself face to face with Nicole.

"Christ!"

"It's nice to see you too," she said, stepping forward to push past him. Logan blocked the doorway with his arm. He'd expected Nicole to turn up at some time. In fact, he was relying on it so he could eliminate her from the investigation. It would have to wait.

"Now's not a good time, Nicole."

"Isn't our relationship important to you, Logan?"

It was the same refrain yet she was different. Tension lines ringed her mouth and her skin had a sallowness that even her deep tan couldn't conceal. More surprisingly, her eyes, normally cold and blank, were strangely brilliant.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"Let me in."

Logan glanced past her to the empty street. "How did you get here?"

"Cab."

"I'll get another to take you to the Battersby for the night. I'll call you later."

"I need to talk to you."

"Not possible. I have to go out."

"Then let me wait inside," she said, her eyes flickering some emotion Logan couldn't read. "After all, you don't want a scene on your doorstep, do you?"

Logan knew from experience that Nicole didn't do empty threats and he couldn't afford to waste time dealing with the neighbors. Reluctantly, he moved back to let her pass. Apart from the gold hoops in her ears and her red leather shoulder bag, she was all in white—low-cut top, Capri pants and six-inch pumps. She sashayed ahead of him down the passage, stopping by the door to his bedroom.

"The living room's to your right," he said.

She opened the bedroom door, turning to look at him with a sly smile. "The inner sanctum."

"To your right, Nicole."

"May I use your bathroom?"

"Go ahead," he said grudgingly. "I'll sort the cab."

"I'm quite capable of calling my own cab," she said sharply and closed the door.

Logan waited in the living room, staring through the window at the cleared area of garden. It felt a lifetime since Annie had been there. He checked his watch. Nicole had been in the bathroom for eight minutes.

He found her lying on his bed, naked. "This isn't going to work, Nicole."

"Come to bed, darling."

The endearment made him wince. He collected her clothes from the floor and tossed them at her. "Get dressed."

"I know you want me," she said without moving.

Logan could almost pity his ex-wife. A beautiful woman who had everything perfect genes and wealth could offer. Yet a woman incapable of love, conscience, or even insight. After everything that had happened, she still clung to her belief that sex would bring him back. It was all she knew. Her body, so flawless, so made for pleasure, was nothing but a tool to Nicole.

"Forget the cab. I'll drop you off at the hotel," Logan said. "Put your clothes on."

She drew her legs up, flopping her knees wide. "I love you, Logan. Let me prove it."

Logan's gaze held hers. "It's not going to happen. Not now, not ever."

"You know how good I can make you feel."

"If you're not ready in two minutes, I'll get an officer down here to arrest you for trespass."

"You asshole. How many times did you fuck that slut?"

"For what it's worth, I didn't."

He slammed the door and went to the kitchen. In a flash she followed him, still naked.

"Don't you dare walk away from me. I know you fucked her, whatever she said."

It took Logan several seconds to absorb the words. "When did you talk to Tessa?"

"Does it matter?"

"Jesus Christ, it was you!"

She didn't bat an eyelid. "You know what that bitch did? She lied to me...lied! Well, I soon put a stop to that."

"With a knife," Logan said flatly.

"God, she was so dumb lying there, pleading her innocence. I had to slash that idea right off her face."

Logan had worked so many homicides, he was mostly impervious to the details of violent killings but Nicole's barbarity made him sick to his stomach. Tessa Cullen hadn't a clue what she'd stepped into that day at the café and stupidly, nor had he.

"Was there anyone else in the house?" Logan asked carefully. "Anyone or anything unusual?"

Nicole shook her head. "I only saw the woman who owns the place driving away. God, that dump is so cold."

The spirit had been close. Watched it all. Enjoyed it perhaps.

"Where did you get the knife?" Logan asked, automatically shifting to interrogative mode.

"She offered me coffee like we were friends or something," Nicole sniggered. "I followed her to the kitchen."

"Then what?"

"She saw me take a knife from the block. She tried to run upstairs...tripped. That's when I caught up and pushed her."

"And after you killed her, what did you do with the knife?"

Her answer came on a nonchalant shrug. "Washed it and put it back."

"And your clothes?"

"In a motel room."

"Why Oak Lane?"

"With that trashy roommate always around, the bitch was never alone so I followed her...waited all night."

Logan, racked with guilt, grabbed her arm and shoved her along the passage to the bedroom. If he'd paid more attention to Nicole's escalating obsession and less to his own desire to be rid of her from his life, Tessa would still be alive.

"Put your clothes on," he ordered, picking up her top and throwing it at her.

"Not until you fuck me."

"Do it, Nicole. Now!"

He expected a refusal, but she dressed, albeit with deliberate delay. When she'd finished and her bag was over her shoulder, she looked up at him with clear, untroubled eyes. "There's nothing to stop us now, darling. We can be together."

She was insane.

"Nicole, we're going to the station," Logan said evenly. "As soon as John Morgan cautions you, call your father. He'll arrange a lawyer and whatever else you need. Do you understand?"

"You know she even tried to tell me it was Arianna...Annie."

Logan felt his chest tighten. "Who?"

"She said you were seeing Annie, the woman who owns the house. She went on and on about it. In the end I had to cut the slut's throat to shut her up." She looked at him, quizzically. "Do you know Annie?"

"Never heard of her."

"Are you sure?"

Declining to answer, Logan took Nicole's arm and walked her along the passage to the front door.

"Who is she, Logan?"

"No one," he said, reaching for the doorknob.

She tried to twist from his grip. "Why won't you tell me?"

"There's nothing to tell."

"You want me out of here so you can go to her!"

The truth of her statement momentarily rendered him mute.

Nicole leapt into the silence. "It's true, you bastard!"

"Bastard or not," Logan said, "we're going to the station."

Still holding her arm, he yanked open the front door, barely registering that her free hand was in her shoulder bag. She had the .38 Special aimed directly at his heart. The safety was off.

"Give me the gun, Nicole," Logan said quietly, releasing her arm to move back.

Her eyes glittered her madness. "How many times with her?"

"When you give me the gun, we'll talk."

"Annie, Annie, Annie," Nicole chanted. "She's the one isn't she? I can see it on your face."

"What you see is someone who wants to help you," Logan said, shifting his weight so he was better placed to make a grab for the gun. He had no chance of drawing his own weapon. A useless gesture anyway. Nicole was too far gone in her insanity to listen to threats or reason. As it was, he'd be lucky to disarm her. Her finger was hard on the trigger, the gun a hair's-breadth from firing.

"Hand it over, Nicole, before you do something stupid."

A deadly calm replaced the glittering blue. "Tell me about her, Logan. Times, places...everything."

"Fuck you, you sick bitch!"

As hoped, she blinked in surprise. Logan seized her wrist, reeling her back against the half open door. It slammed shut at the same time the .38 fired. He felt the bullet pierce his right side. He staggered back, maintaining his grip on Nicole's wrist, twisting it hard until the gun hit the floor. Kicking it away, he grabbed her other wrist. She fought him with everything she had. Through the excruciating pain in his side, it took every one of his two hundred and fifteen pounds to subdue her. Spinning her around, he shoved her face-first against the wall, pinning her hands behind her back. The effort sent searing pain through his side. Within the next thirty seconds, he'd lose consciousness. He had to get her cuffed and call for assistance.

"I'll kill her!" Nicole screamed.

Logan was down to seconds.

Operating at the edge of consciousness, he managed to cuff one of her writhing wrists before he felt himself slipping. As he fell forward, his head hit the cast iron coat rack by the door.

Then darkness.
Nineteen

He stood by her bedroom door. Except for the obsidian eyes and the heavy, disagreeable features—for not even Edmond could disguise his true nature—the man before her was Thomas Halberd in his wedding suit.

As Annie moved toward him, she felt the oppressing cold lift and, gratifyingly, her strength return. Yet as welcome as these restorations to normality were, Edmond's generosity could not be for her benefit. He needed her healthy and strong for his pleasure.

"I hope you found my touch pleasing," he said with a smile. "I enjoyed it very much."

"It was passable," Annie replied, coloring her tone with indifference. To succeed in her mission she must walk a delicate tightrope of submission tempered with her customary defiance for to behave otherwise would arouse suspicion. "However," she added, meeting his gaze coldly. "I expect a lover, not an illusionist."

"Yet you did not resist my illusion in the detective's bed."

"I don't need tricks to enjoy Detective Gauge," Annie said archly. "He is so...so endowed."

His eyes turned hard. "You like to push me, don't you? To see how far you can go?"

"Sir, do I irritate you?"

"I have always admired your spirit, Arianna, but tonight I want no sparring. That lovely mouth has another purpose." He took her elbow. "Come, let us retire."

"I am not some strumpet you have purchased," Annie reproved, then added coyly, "and I must prepare."

His expression displayed resistance but he dropped his hand and inclined his head. "As you wish."

Despite his acquiescence, Annie knew Edmond was not of a mood to be played. This was not a Victorian parlor and Edmond some callow suitor eager to please. There would be few preliminaries to this coupling. He would take her as pitilessly as he had Emmaline.

"I will wait outside," he said, standing back for her to enter. "But do not try my patience."

Annie doubted Edmond's patience would be of any duration. Even if he gave her an hour, it would be of little use as there was nothing to be done but wait her opportunity.

Closing the bedroom door, Annie took the knife from her bag and slipped it beneath her pillow. She had no notion of how to prepare for Edmond's attentions although he likely expected to find her lying naked on the bed, reaching for him. The thought had her hastily opening the bottom drawer of the armoire to retrieve her one and only nightgown—a white airy thing of lace and ribbon, given her by Cordy last Christmas. Annie held the soft cotton to her face, inhaling its fresh, pristine scent. A beautiful garment about to be despoiled by evil.

"Arianna, my need grows."

Annie quickly undressed and slipped the gown over her head. Then she stood by the bed and waited. Within seconds, the door flew back. Eyes as black as pitch raked her and a set of thick lips parted on an approving smile.

"You come to me like a virgin," he said, moving close, "untouched yet practised in the art of satisfying a man's desires. I applaud you, my dear. You have done well."

He lifted her hand to his lips. Immediately her body reacted, not with revulsion but with desire. An illusion, just as Emmaline had warned.

Annie looked at the molding of Edmond's heavy features, the fall of blonde hair over the protruding forehead and the cruel twist to the slack mouth. He made a repugnant visage yet she could not expel her desire for him.

"Do not fight it," Edmond said, enclosing her fingers in his when she tried to pull away. "If I cannot have your love, I will settle for your desire."

"Surely this is unnecessary, Edmond. If you doubt your own prowess, then this will be a disappointing night."

"My beauty, I do this only for your benefit. My tastes are...shall we say, demanding."

"I expect you to conduct yourself like a gentleman."

The spirit's eyes glistened. "Gentlemanly behavior is for courting, Arianna. It has no place in the bedroom."

The words sickened her but she responded coolly enough. "We shall see about that."

"I look forward to your instruction on the matter," he said, drawing her into his arms. His eyes fell to her mouth. "But for now, there is something I have long waited for."

His kiss was as rapacious as anything she could have imagined. When he finally lifted his head, Annie recoiled at the brutal lust in the black eyes.

"Let me see all of you," he instructed hoarsely, moving back to take full view of his prize.

Annie slipped the thin straps of the nightgown from her shoulders, holding the lace bodice over her breasts.

"Must I be the only one to undress, sir?"

He ran a fingertip along her décolletage. "Let it drop."

Annie obeyed, trembling in a dreadful, illusion-generated excitement as his eyes covered her from head to toe. His lips curved in a licentious smile and within a heartbeat, his arm was about her, bending her back under his weight. A hand thrust between her legs. Annie's mind screamed its loathing, yet she could not stop her body responding. Oh God, such a vile power.

"You are magnificent," he whispered, laying her across the bed, "and ready for me."

When he stood back and began to unbutton himself, Annie, fighting her terrifying desire, pushed up on her elbows.

"You will undress, Mr. Wilde," she said loudly.

Edmond's hands stilled.

Annie held her gaze evenly to his. "I have no taste for a man who merely desires a quick fumble. I expect you to attend to my pleasure."

Edmond looked at her as though assessing the strength of his illusion. "And what is your pleasure, Arianna?"

"For a start, I like to see what I'm getting," she said, although her motive for desiring him naked was purely practical. He would be easier to stab. "I trust this is not a problem for you."

Edmond undressed, revealing a surprisingly well constructed physique. Thomas had plainly kept himself in fine condition. His torso was strong and in pleasing proportions, his arms firmly muscled and his legs, whilst not long, for he was only an inch or so taller than she, had the sturdiness of a man who took frequent exercise. And his manhood stood strong. Annie could see why Emmaline had spoken so passionately of him. If it were not for the features so malformed by Edmond's degeneracy, her will to end the spirit's tyranny over Thomas might well have evaporated.

"Before our union," Annie said with lowered lashes to conceal her distaste at her own words, "I want a demonstration of your skill. Continue where you left off."

Edmond laughed. "It will be my pleasure, madam."

He lay beside her and without delay resumed the intimate work. She could not hold him off for long as her body was already writhing with pleasure under his touch. She had not anticipated the strength of his illusion. It surely had a greater potency than anything Emmaline had endured. Annie was close to climax. If she came, and Edmond couldn't help but know, she could not taunt him of his inadequacy. She would be lost to a lifetime of submission. 'An endless appetite,' Emmaline had said.

She felt his fingers slide into her body, withdraw, then stroke her most sensitive part. Annie scrunched her eyes closed, trying not to succumb to the intense bliss.

"Is this skill enough for you, my lovely?" Edmond said, grunting as he moved over her. "Look at me, Arianna. I want to see your eyes at the height of your ecstasy."

Opening her eyes, she saw the glow of conquest in Edmond's dark gaze. His fingers worked faster, became a relentless rhythm and through it all, he watched her for the tell-tale signs of orgasm. In desperation she attempted to pull away but she was unable to move under the mounting pleasure. She thought of Logan, longing for his gentle strength.

Then something happened. Something wonderful. Her body went cold to Edmond's touch as though doused with iced water. Incredibly, the illusion had lifted and all it took was to bring to mind Edmond's nemesis.

"It's no good, sir," she snapped. "You play with me like a novice."

At once, he drew back, frowning.

Annie sat up and huffed, "I thought you were experienced in these matters."

Edmond's eyes burned hot, then dimmed—became shrewd. "You have lost the illusion."

"For all the good it did me."

"Remember, my dear, we made a bargain."

"I made no bargain for an incompetent lover!" Annie retorted. She stretched out her hand to examine the ruby ring on her wedding finger. "Emmaline warned me of your shortcomings."

Edmond gripped her arm and threw her back against the pillows. "Emmaline was nothing!"

"Apparently," Annie continued, positioning her expression precisely between boredom and insolence, "you could not satisfy her. Not once."

His features conveyed the hoped for anger but there was also perceptiveness. Edmond had a thin tolerance but he was no fool.

"You will not distract me with more of your insults, Arianna. You will meet your obligation."

Her heart beating very fast, Annie said, "all those years of lying with Emmaline and yet you learned nothing about pleasing a woman."

Edmond's gaze held steady in its survey of her. "Think carefully before you embark on this course."

"It's no surprise your wife took a lover," Annie chanced boldly.

Suddenly, the glass lamp on the dressing table flew upward and shattered against the ceiling, raining glass over the room. The doors on the armoire flapped on their hinges like wooden wings and the drawers below catapulted from their cases to splinter against the wall.

Annie laughed. "Is that is all you can manage? How ridiculous you are!"

For some seconds, he contemplated her in silence. "I know what you seek. It will not happen."

"How Charlotte must have loathed your touch," Annie snickered. "Did you murder her because she laughed at your pathetic lovemaking?"

Edmond's skin turned as white as the pillowslip beneath her head. His body seemed to constrict in on itself and the skin encasing the human frame took on the appearance of decay.

"This is intolerable, madam! You will apologize!"

Annie stretched her arms languorously over her head. In doing so, she was able to slip a hand beneath the pillow to grasp the knife. "What's more, Mr. Wilde, there is someone you cannot overcome, isn't there? Someone you fear."

"I fear—fear no one," Edmond rasped, his heavy lips quivering under the intensity of his outrage.

Annie, scenting the blood of victory, did not falter. "When Logan made love to me in this room, I lost count of my ecstasies. Oh, how skilled he is!"

Annie found herself staring into the hazel eyes of Thomas Halberd.

Marshaling her mind to her opportunity, she plunged the knife into his shoulder, twisting the blade to open wide the flesh. Edmond rolled from the bed, crying out. In a single movement, Annie pulled herself over the edge of the mattress and as he lay in his agony, she drove the knife deep into his back. He jerked and lay still.

With a trembling hand, she pulled her weapon from the defeated body. "You are free, Thomas," she murmured. "Go to her."

As if her words had taken on the power of resurrection, the body stirred. Thomas raised his head. "The spirit fights within," he cried, his eyes clouded with pain. "Kill me!"

"Oh Thomas...Thomas," Annie cried, now appalled at her murderous act. "I can't do it."

"You must or this living hell will never end!"

Annie raised the knife and breathed deep to gather her resolve. Her hesitation, less than a second, cost them both dearly. For in that briefest of time, the body of Thomas dissolved into the shadowed, colorless form of Edmond.

Annie dropped the knife.

Black mist cloaked the bed as the spirit rose. A white hand emerged from the darkness to grip her throat and Annie felt herself lifted high into the air. She could not breathe.

"You probably think you are about to die, Arianna. But you are going to live a long life. A very long life."

Terror filled her heart.

"I have been patient," Edmond snarled. "I have given you beautiful things...allowed you to take lovers to your bed. And through all of it, I have tolerated your insults because I coveted your love. Yet you would betray me!"

He shook her like a rag doll. "You ask of Charlotte. The whore deceived me just as you have done this night! But I will not die again, Arianna."

"Wh—what...?"

Edmond threw her upon the bed. "Charlotte murdered me—poisoned me so she could be with her lover! For weeks before that night, she begged me to release her. She loved him, she said. She carried his child. I could not permit such a humiliation in the town I built from the ground up."

He leaned in close, his black eyes almost liquid under his hatred. "After she had committed her foul deed, she summoned her lover to the house. He tossed my body in the well as though it were trash. From that day on, I bided my time, nurtured my power until I could act. When that time came—when they were engaged in their sordid intercourse in this very room, I haunted them. Charlotte fled from the house...threw herself and her unborn bastard in the well. To this day, our bodies lie together!"

"And—and the man?"

Edmond gave no response to her question.

"You tried to take his life-force," Annie cried in understanding. "He was too strong for you just as Logan is too strong for you!"

"No mortal can withstand my power," Edmond shouted. "And for your act of treachery you will never again set foot from this house. There will be no beauty in your existence, no peace in your heart!"

Annie watched despairingly as the spirit reformed into Thomas. The deep wounds, exacted with such sureness, were no longer upon the body.

"I beg you, Edmond," Annie gasped. "Release him."

"Never! He gives me the means to have you although why I should want you now is beyond reason. You have bewitched me, woman, and I will wait no longer."

Annie closed her eyes as Edmond gripped her hair and pulled her up.

"Until the last breath has left your body," he said, pressing himself to her mouth, "you will have but one duty to perform. I want a demonstration of your skill, Arianna. And do not disappoint me!"

Suddenly, she felt her hair released. Opening her eyes, she was alone in the bedroom. Annie struggled to her feet. Whoever...whatever had taken Edmond downstairs would not keep him there for any length of time. She could attempt escape down the fire ladder but any freedom would be short-lived for one of Edmond's illusions would soon return her to the house. She dare not call Logan from the phone in her bedroom. Her attempted assassination of Edmond had unleashed a new level of hatred, such that not even Logan, for all his dogged determination, could overcome.

It left but one recourse. She must perform the poltergeist exorcism. It could not succeed on such a powerful spirit but she must at least try. There was nothing left to do but try.

Slipping on her nightgown, Annie moved quickly along the passage to the landing, trying to pinpoint Edmond's location. She was half way down the stairs when she saw the front door open and a shadow appear on the sunlit floor. Fearing Bernadette had returned to the house, Annie stumbled to the bottom stair, crying out her warning.

"Bernadette, don't come in!"

A woman, dressed in white, stood staring at her.

"Whoever you are, you must leave," Annie said, moving quickly to the door.

"So you're the bitch!"

"Nicole?"

Nicole's smile of assent delivered no warmth to the flawlessly assembled features. "You're waiting for him, aren't you?" she said, her eyes on Annie's nightgown.

"You must leave, Nicole."

"You've been screwing my husband."

Annie held steady against the hatred in the brittle blue gaze. "Just go."

Thrusting Annie aside, Nicole strode to the middle of the living room. "I should have known he wouldn't be interested in that slut."

Edmond, shadowed and invisible to their visitor, placed himself at Nicole's elbow. She shivered. "Such a beauty," he said, tracing a pale finger along Nicole's arm to elicit another shiver. "And utterly without conscience."

"Leave her alone," Annie pleaded and then asked in surprise, "you know her?"

Nicole looked around. "Who are you talking to?"

"There is a spirit beside you," Annie said calmly. "It's him who makes you shiver."

Nicole shrieked a laugh. "You're as mad as your stupid friend."

"Are you speaking of Tessa?!"

"Are you speaking of Tessa?" Nicole echoed mockingly. She walked the room, tossing books, ornaments, vases, and Annie's laptop to the floor.

"Please stop," Annie implored. "He won't allow this behavior in his house."

Her plea was met with a scream of laughter. "Lord, you are ridiculous! And as for his dump. How do you stand it? The only half decent room is the kitchen."

Annie put her hands to her face in horror. "Oh God, oh God. You were here. You did it!"

Nicole's smile was almost charming beneath its malignity. "Got it in one."

The affirmation cut cruelly into Annie's heart. In despair she rounded on Edmond. "How could you allow this? Tessa never did anything to you!"

The spirit laughed, a vicious sound, silent to Nicole. "The killing was magnificent to watch. Such cruelty."

Annie's mind writhed at the heartless words. "You wish to exist in the mortal world yet you have no compassion for humanity!"

"A wasted emotion, Arianna."

Nicole moved close to Annie, staring at her in puzzlement. "Whatever did my husband see in a lunatic like you? You're pretty enough but hardly my standard."

"I beg you, Nicole. Leave this house now."

Nicole's laugh was as cold as anything Edmond could effect. "It's you that's leaving. In fact, you'll be leaving for good."

Annie stared at the gun in Nicole's hand. "He won't let you harm me, Nicole."

"You know, we used to fuck like rabbits," Nicole said with a sigh. "He's so good in bed. I will miss that."

"Where is he?" Annie asked in sudden fear. "His apartment?"

"On our honeymoon we didn't leave our hotel room for three days. He couldn't get enough of me."

Her heart barely beating, Annie could only whisper, "please tell me."

Nicole frowned. "I had no choice."

Annie screamed her grief. "No!"

Her limbs failed. She fell to her knees, closing her eyes against the awful truth. She felt Edmond lift her to her feet, his mouth press to her cheek. "Now that your lover is dead, taking you will be sweet indeed."

"I will give you a lifetime of pleasure if you allow me to go to him," Annie sobbed. "Please, Edmond."

"Who the hell is Edmond?" Nicole asked, turning to check the room.

Edmond's cruel laugh filled the air. "Shall I destroy her now, Arianna?"

Despite her desolation of heart, Annie cried out her opposition. "Let her be, Edmond!"

Nicole raised the gun. "Good bye, you mad bitch."

Annie's warning cry came too late. As Nicole directed the gun at Annie, it transformed into a gigantic insect of some hideous, indeterminate species. The head of the thing covered Nicole's hand, the grotesque body gripping her arm with long, wire-like legs.

Nicole screamed—a sound of such terror, Annie instinctively reached to help her. "It's an illusion, Nicole. He plays tricks."

An illusion that submerged Annie in her own fear. The thing upon Nicole's arm swayed to and fro, its bulbous eyes glistening as they scanned the room and landed on Annie. She attempted to push Nicole toward the door but Nicole's feet were fastened to the floor, held there by frozen terror or illusion, Annie could not determine. She watched helplessly as the insect drew back its head and sank its mandibles deep into Nicole's hand, ripping the flesh back as though it were orange peel. In that instant, and blessedly, Nicole fainted.

The creature, its mission accomplished, crawled from its prey and slipped into the shadows.

"You are beyond evil," Annie screamed at Edmond, dropping down beside Nicole. "And I shall exorcise you, Edmond Wilde!"

"I command you from this world...you unclean spirit of satanic power...enemy of man and woman and child. In the name of goodness, get thee from this house..."

The incantation put Edmond in such a paroxysm, it seemed he would explode under his own wrath. His shadow flowed like lava across the room, reaching every corner and crevice. It climbed the walls and traversed the ceiling and, as if this display of power were not horror enough for any mortal to witness, it encased the chandelier and shook it so violently, the thing came away from the ceiling. It fell within an inch of the floor then, astonishingly, swung upward to rotate in the air before shattering into a thousand pieces.

Then everything stilled.

"You dare to say those foul words to me!" Edmond thundered above her head. "You have put yourself at the very gates of hell, Arianna!"

Annie rose from her knees, holding a shard of glass to her throat. "There is nothing you can do to me now that he is gone. I pray for death."

Edmond took a step to her. Annie pressed on her dagger, piercing the skin. "Stay away from me!"

"You know I can take that from you in a second."

"Let me die, Edmond."

"So you can join your lover on the other side. Never!"

"I will fight you until the end of time, Edmond Wilde! You will have no peace for I will attempt to destroy you at every opportunity. We will both exist in hell!"

Frustration showed on his ugly features. "Damn you, Arianna. All I ever desired was your affection. I would've given you everything you could ever want. This house was to be our home. A home filled with music and dancing and love."

"You don't know the meaning of the word!" Annie shrieked. "All you know is hate."

Edmond advanced to her. Annie forced the blade deep into her flesh. The shard flew from her hand.

"You surely have the devil in you," he said, snaring her hair to drag her close. "And I tire of your constant insolence. But I will have you! I renew my offer. One night and I will leave this house...this world."

"One night!" Annie cried. "That is more than any woman could withstand!"

"And yet you will lie with me for I alone can give you what you desire."

"What could you give me other than misery?!"

"Death so you can join your lover."

"Liar!" Annie spat, wrenching herself from his grip.

"One night, that is all."'

Annie watched in despair as the spirit once again took the appearance of Thomas.

"It is but a heartbeat in eternity, Arianna."

"If I agree you must release Thomas."

Edmond inclined his head. "By morning, I will have no further use for him."

"How can I trust you?"

"Because you will plunge the knife into Halberd's body. I will be as death."

"And her," Annie said, gesturing to the still unconscious Nicole. "You will allow her to live."

"You are too generous to your enemies, my dear."

"She must live, Edmond."

"Very well."

Annie sealed their wretched contract. "Then I agree."

The arms of Thomas lifted her.

"I want no act of submission from you tonight," Edmond said as he carried her up the stairs. "I've seen the pleasure you can give a man. I want that pleasure...that passion. All of it."

Annie, unable to speak to the fate awaiting her, closed her eyes.

In a heartbeat of eternity, she would be free.

She would join Logan in death.
Twenty

Logan woke to nightfall. He was lying curled on his right side, in the same place where he'd fallen. His cuffs and key lay on the floor next to him.

He shifted his weight, gasping in pain as his holster pressed on the wound but thankful for its position. In all likelihood, it had saved him from bleeding out. He checked his watch. He'd been out for almost two hours.

Rolling on to his stomach, he gingerly pushed up on his knees, took a breath and made it to his feet. He opened the front door. The Navigator had gone.

Annie isn't at Oak Lane, he told himself. He didn't believe it any more than he'd believed her intention to go to Bernadette's house.

An image of Annie lying at the bottom of her stairs, her beautiful face slashed beyond recognition slammed him so hard, he fell back against the door, trembling. He forced the horror aside. To see justice for Annie, he needed to focus on Nicole. She would still be at the house. She'd already killed and thought she'd killed him. She had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

Making an unsteady path to the bathroom, he stripped bare to assess the damage. The bullet had entered below his ribcage and hadn't exited. The bruise on his forehead was black. To be out for so long indicated serious head trauma, possibly fatal. Bullet wound or brain bleed, one way or the other he was on borrowed time.

He called Tully's cell.

"Before you fucking start, Gauge, I didn't know Connolly was gonna..."

"I need you to pick me up at my apartment," Logan said, gritting his teeth at Tully's unruly mouth. "It's a job."

"My shift just ended. Can't you get someone else?"

"Be here in ten," Logan snapped and rang off. Tully would be here in five. When it came to policing, the sergeant never faltered.

Logan packed the wound with gauze and taped the area with heavy plasters. He took two Vicodin, pulled on jeans, T-shirt and sneakers and strapped on his service weapon. He checked his phone for missed calls. Nothing from Annie.

He had only just stepped outside to wait for Tully when the sergeant swung an unmarked into the driveway. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded as Logan eased himself into the passenger seat.

"Oak Lane and make it fast, Sergeant."

Tully backed the vehicle onto the street. "Your girlfriend got another iceberg in her house?"

"My ex is there. She's armed so step on it."

"Jesus."

Tully accelerated.

"Cut the lights, do a drive past number four, park two down," Logan directed as they turned into Oak Lane.

The street was dead quiet—curtains drawn, porch lights on under a darkening sky. Annie's house lay in complete darkness, ominously lifeless. Tully had barely rolled the car to a stop when Logan was on the sidewalk, rechecking the plasters on his side. His hand came away red.

Tully maneuvered his bulk from the car and attempted, unsuccessfully, to wrestle the tails of his uniform shirt back into his pants. His eyes fell on Logan's bloodstained T-shirt. The sergeant's expression showed concern but no surprise.

"It looks bad. What and who did that?"

"A .38 Special, compliments of my ex-wife."

"Shouldn't you be in hospital?"

"Later," Logan answered. He took a walkie-talkie and pen flashlight from the glovebox, clipping both to his jeans waistband. "I need you to stay close until I radio you."

"You sure she's in there?"

"Yeah," Logan answered, angling his head in the direction of the Navigator parked at the end of the lane. "That's what she came in."

"You'll need cover?"

"Not necessary," Logan said grimly. "I have an advantage. The bitch thinks I'm dead."

"You will be fucking dead if you go in there alone."

"There's more going on in that house than you realize, Sergeant. Stay out of it."

"So I stand out here like a spare wheel," Tully grumbled. "What's the use in that?"

"When I bring Nicole out, arrest her."

"For what?"

"Murder."

"You're not dead," Tully observed dryly.

Logan didn't answer.

"Oh, I see. I'm sorry, Gauge?"

"I don't know for sure Annie's dead," Logan said. "But play this by the book. I don't want Nicole walking because of a flawed arrest."

"She do the Cullen killing as well?" Tully asked, looking ashamed.

"Yeah," Logan answered and then added, "forget it Tully. Right now I need you to do your job. I'll be ten minutes at most. If any neighbors turn up, send them home."

Leaving Tully on watch by Annie's boundary hedge, Logan made his way to the back of the house. Picking the back door lock, he stepped silently into the kitchen. No sound came through the intense dark. Feeling his way along the wall to the living room door, he slipped his hand around the jamb and, drawing his weapon, flicked the light switch. No light.

He tried the kitchen light. The halogens cast a bright beam across the living room floor, stopping short of the stairs.

The first thing Logan noticed were the brass arms of the chandelier poking up through a black substance covering the floor. Advancing into the room, he expected to encounter something solid but it rippled around his legs. The spook's shadow. It had gone all out this time. His heart in his mouth, Logan moved to the stairs. Annie wasn't there.

A soft moan from somewhere to his right spun him around. He peered into the darkness, straining to locate the source. It came again. Slowly, he moved toward it, his flesh tingling under the shadow's intense chill but far from disabling his movements, the cold numbed the pain and honed his mind to operate with total precision.

He found Nicole huddled on the floor beneath the stained glass window, clutching her arm. At the sight of him, she pressed back against the wall.

"Yeah, it's me back from the dead," Logan said, yanking her upright. Her legs and arms were bloodied with cuts, most likely from crawling through the broken chandelier glass. Annie's blood was on those hands. The intensity of his rage had him throwing Nicole back against the wall.

"Where is she?!" he shouted.

A hysterical laugh met his question.

Logan slapped her face.

She blinked and laughed again.

He'd get nothing from Nicole. The house...the spook had destroyed the last of her sanity. Holding her steady against the wall, Logan shuffled his feet around in the shadow, feeling for her bag and, more specifically, the .38. Wherever it was, it was unlikely Nicole had fired the gun or the neighbors would've heard and called the police. Besides, Nicole would want this killing like Tessa's. Long and bloody.

Sickened by the thought, Logan pushed the whimpering Nicole across the room to the front door. He had the door half open when it slammed shut. The lock held fast. The spook knew of his presence. It wanted him.

"Front door, Tully," Logan barked into the walkie-talkie. "Break it down."

"On my way."

Seconds later, he heard Tully throwing his weight at the door. "Can't shift the fucking thing."

"Try the back," Logan shouted.

"Will do."

A movement at the top of the stairs caught Logan's eye. Annie stood on the landing, naked. In the dim light he could see blood trickling down between her beasts and over her stomach. Her porcelain skin glowed with a strange, unnatural translucency—so clear he could see the blood vessels beneath. Was she real?

Nicole forgotten, he stepped onto the staircase, his gaze fixed to Annie's face, his heart wrenching at the shock and confusion in her eyes. He reached out a hand, took another step. She moved back.

"Don't leave, sweetheart?"

His foot had barely touched the next tread when she withdrew into the shadows, lost to his sight.

Until this moment, Logan had never held to the notion of destiny. He knew his death could be premature and violent—a logical assumption given his career choice. Yet this final act seemed fated, as though he'd lived his entire life to reach this point. It all made sense now. The move to Erradale Bay. Meeting Annie and knowing love for the first time. Somehow, he'd always known of Annie's existence or at least the promise of her. He hadn't known her name, what she looked like or where she lived but he'd known she was somewhere in the world, waiting for him. He'd wasted years not looking. Now she had slipped from his grasp like an exquisite thought inevitably slips from the mind. But this battle was far from over. In this life and the next, he would protect her. She needed him and he would not fail her.

A piercing scream tore through his thoughts. Spinning around, he saw Nicole reeling back against the wall, her hand shielding her gaze from the figure outlined in the kitchen doorway. Given the situation and Nicole's psychosis, she probably thought Tully a ghost.

"Get her outside, Sergeant," Logan shouted. "Now!"

"Jesus Christ, what is it?" Tully said, taking a step into the black.

"Just do it."

As Tully advanced into the room, the shadow about his legs began to form a vortex. "What the fuck...?" he yelled as the swirling black rose up his body.

Before Logan could make a move to help, the encased sergeant was lifted off his feet, flipped upside down and hung from the ceiling like a spider's prey. If it were not for the look of terror in the stricken sergeant's eyes, Logan would have presumed him dead.

"It's me you want," Logan roared at the room. "Show yourself!"

Silence met his challenge. There was nothing to be done to help Tully. Calling for back up would deliver a death sentence to any police officer entering the house. He checked Nicole's whereabouts. She was back on the floor, huddled in a ball. Apparently the spirit wanted her alive but for what reason, Logan didn't care to contemplate.

He took the stairs as quickly as he could manage through the increasing pain in his side. Pausing on the landing, he checked the passage and, finding it empty, moved toward Annie's bedroom. He was almost at her door when a shadow appeared—an enormous shapeless, impenetrable thing as black as midnight. For some seconds it hung in the gloom of the hallway, then from within, the outline of a man emerged—a stocky, fair-haired young man dressed in a brown, pin-striped suit.

"You wanted to see me, Detective. Well here I am."

Logan felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. This was Edmond Wilde in the flesh or at least, in someone's flesh.

"Release my sergeant," Logan said coolly. "He's not important to our business."

"I have use for him."

"What use?"

"His life-force."

Logan did not flinch. "Take mine instead, if you care to try."

The black eyes contemplated Logan's blood-soaked T-shirt. "In time."

"Where's Annie?"

"Arianna is with me, Detective. I have enjoyed her many times tonight and you have interrupted my pleasure."

"You son-of-a-bitch," Logan said, then drew breath, switching off his anger. He had come here prepared—expecting to die. Now, in order to help Annie, he needed to live.

"Forcing yourself on a woman does not make her yours," Logan responded evenly. "It is not the mark of a man."

"She lies with me willingly."

It took every ounce of Logan's will to check his rage. "Never willingly."

"I understand your difficulty in accepting that Arianna desires me. Any man would fight for the attentions of such a beauty. As you know, she brings such passion to the bed."

"Then what the hell are you doing out here?" Logan said, his hands curling in fists.

The spirit's mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile. "Arianna's skills put me in a generous mood tonight, sir. Take your wife and leave my house."

"I'll take you first," Logan snarled. He dragged his gun free, firing into the spirit's chest. The bullet passed clear through and lodged in the wall behind.

"Your toy is useless against me, Detective."

As Logan raised the weapon to fire again, dizziness swept him. The gun fell from his hand. He felt blood running down the inside of his jeans. Leaning against the wall, he dragged his T-shirt over his head. The blood-soaked gauze and plaster fell away. Tearing a strip from the shirt, he repacked the exposed wound, forcing the wad deep. Throughout, the ghost contemplated him in silence. It could have killed him at any time. Annie's words came to mind.

"Annie's right," Logan snarled, straightening to face the spirit. "You're a pathetic coward."

There was no response other than a flicker of the coal-black eyes.

"I thought so," Logan went on. "Now get the hell out of my way."

Dragging a deep breath to steady himself, he strode past the spirit and opened the bedroom door. In the semi-darkness, he saw Annie lying on the bed, one arm resting on the pillow above her head, the other lying across a nightgown at her side. Moving quickly to the bed, he switched on the bedside lamp, his heart contracting at the sight of her red throat and bruised body. He sat on the bed beside her and, in that moment, before the full awareness of a certainty, when hope still burns and prayers are said, he took her hand. The icy coldness of her fingers told him she was dead.

"Why?" he asked dully.

"She died from her own hand, Detective."

"You bastard," Logan shouted, on his feet. "What did you do to her?!"

"I merely took what is mine. Now leave my house. Arianna and I have unfinished business."

"I'm taking her," Logan said, despite the hopelessness of the act. Even if he managed to carry her body from the house, her spirit would remain. Edmond had her trapped for all eternity.

Sitting her up, Logan dressed her in the nightgown and lifted her into his arms. As he walked along the passage to the stairs, he felt the spirit close behind but it did not act. It didn't need to. It knew he was done for. He was at the bottom stair when his legs gave out. As he went down, he thrust his hand beneath Annie's head to shield her from the thump.

Cradling her, Logan kissed her. "Wait for me, Annie."

If he had not lingered in his kiss, he would not have felt the small brush of her eyelashes on his cheek. Fearing his mind had invented the movement, he kissed her again, watching for the smallest sign. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Annie, I'm here."

The dulled emerald registered him. "I thought you..."

"Don't talk now. I'll get you out of here."

She put a hand to his cheek and murmured. He bent to listen.

"Make him mortal."

"What...?" Logan began, but her eyes closed and her hand fell from his cheek.

"A touching scene, Detective," Edmond said from above him. "But do not think you have awakened your sleeping beauty. There is no life in her body. What you saw was an illusion. A farewell gift if you please."

Logan held her face. "Annie, tell me what to do."

"There is nothing you can do, Detective," Edmond said sharply. "Arianna is mine and when you are no more, I shall take her again."

Carefully, Logan laid her down and, fortified by the purest hatred he had ever known, found his feet. "You will never touch her again, you bastard!"

"Get out of my house," Edmond said on a low menacing hiss.

"So I'll die elsewhere? I'm going nowhere, you worthless piece of shit."

Logan expected a violent response but to his surprise the spirit merely stood watching him.

"You know what Annie just told me," Logan went on, testing for a reaction, "she said you're useless as a man."

"I will not succumb to your insults, Detective."

"More precisely," Logan said slowly—maliciously, "she said you can't fuck to save yourself."

The fleshy mouth opened but made no sound. At that moment, Logan realized that the spirit was indeed holding itself in check, seemingly afraid of losing control. 'Make him mortal,' she'd said.

Taking a punt, Logan placed himself within an inch of the broken features and sneered, "tell me, Ed...man to man. How does a loser like you even get it up?"

Suddenly, the eyes flared white-hot, then dimmed, not to their former black but to hazel. The skin withered, exposing the yellowed bones beneath. Logan reached out and snared the throat, shuddering in revulsion as the dried flesh caved beneath his fingers like pie crust. A thin blinding light emerged from Edmond's mouth, spiraled upward to pierce the ceiling while the vacated body below became a twisting, flailing puppet suspended on invisible strings. As Logan shook the body violently, desiccated tissue scattered wide, glowing in the frigid air like ashes from a spent fire.

Then everything stopped. The house went quiet.

"Logan!"

Logan spun to the sound, his heart beating fiercely—joyously—at the sight of Annie rising to her feet.

"You've released Thomas," she said, staggering to him. He moved to catch her but she shook her head. "Edmond has not crossed. He seeks another life-force. You must stop him."

Turning, he saw Nicole standing in front of the window. Her eyes were rolled back, her mouth locked in a gape. At first there was nothing to indicate a cause other than frozen terror but then something black covered her face. Nicole gurgled and her hands clawed feebly at her throat.

"Hang on, Nicole," Logan shouted, taking a step to her. A volley of shots split the air. Tully, freed from his snare, sat hunched on the floor, firing at Nicole until she dropped.

Tully dragged himself upright, his weapon falling from shaking hands. He stared at Logan helplessly. "I—I had to."

"Get out of here, Sergeant," Logan ordered. "And stay out."

For once, Tully made no argument. Dropping the gun and without looking back, Tully ran for the kitchen with a haste Logan would not have thought possible in such a large man. He heard the back door slam.

Taking Annie in his arms, Logan exulted in the warmth of her. His happiness would be short lived. His golden hour—that clinical window when his life might have been saved—had expired.

"Logan, you must leave before it's too late."

He eased her back to check her throat. The cut was deep but she would be okay. "Did Nicole do this?" he asked, lifting her chin to look into her eyes.

She shook her head sorrowfully. "She said you were dead. I wanted to die to be with you. Edmond...oh God...he..."

"Where is he?"

"You must leave," she said, trying to break from his arms, "and call an ambulance."

He held her firmly. "It's too late for me, Annie. I need you to tell me where he is."

"He will take your life-force. You will be like Thomas."

"And for the rest of your life, you will be trapped in this house like Emmaline Calloway."

"There is still time for you," she said, tears in her voice. "You can live."

"Woman, this isn't the time for your stubbornness," Logan growled. "Now where is he?"

"Upstairs," she whispered.

Logan left her to take the climb slowly, pausing on each tread to force a breath into his failing lungs. He was on the final stair, breathing hard and barely able to stand when the shadowed specter materialized before him.

"For the rest of your miserable existence," Logan said, stumbling close, "you'll have me for company...this life and the next."

Their gazes locked in hatred. The spirit's mouth opened. A band of shadow emerged, hung in the air.

"Can't manage it? Let me help you," Logan snarled. He thrust his hand into the hideous mouth, feeling for something to grab and finding only air. It was a strange sensation—the mouth stretched around his fist yet without substance. As he withdrew from the icy hollow, the lips drew back in a distorted smile.

"Your lack of fear makes you strong, Detective. But I can wait. At your final breath, I will take your life-force. It will make me more powerful than anything Halberd offered. I will be able to leave the house. I will live as a man in society once again. And every evening I will return to Arianna's bed to enjoy her many charms."

"Don't count on it, asshole. I'm not planning to exit just yet."

"It will be soon enough."

"Logan, kiss me."

Dumbfounded, Logan turned to find Annie standing on the tread below him. She stroked his chest, her eyes on the spirit. "You like to watch such things, don't you, Edmond?"

Edmond's shadow rippled in his agitation. "I will not stand for this impudence, Arianna. Go to your room and wait for me."

"You have lost your power to make illusions, Edmond Wilde," she said contemptuously. "You are a weak poltergeist now."

She climbed the remaining steps to stand before Edmond and in that instant, Logan knew she was about to do something fatal. "No!" he shouted.

"I command you from this world, you unclean spirit of satanic power..."

She got no further as Edmond's shadow extended to her face. The sight had Logan reaching her in a single, adrenaline-fueled bound. Spinning her around, he buried her face in his chest. The spirit's chill swept his back.

"Give her to me, Detective," Edmond said. "She must be punished."

Logan held her tightly. "Tell me the words, Annie."

"Only I can say them."

"Tell me!"

The words came as a ragged whisper. Logan could barely hear her through his pounding pain. He closed his eyes to focus the last of his consciousness. "I command...command you from the...this world, you...you unclean spirit of satanic power...enemy of man and woman and child. In the...in the name of goodness...."

He felt Annie gasp against his chest. Opening his eyes, Edmond had fallen back against the passage wall, his white hands raised in defense.

Annie pushed from his arms. "I command you from this world," she screamed, flying across the landing like a beautiful avenging angel. She recited the chant, her whole body shaking in her passion.

Edmond lurched forward. His shadow waxed and waned then extended toward Annie. Logan did not hesitate. Pushing her aside, he stood face to face with the spirit and, with the words now firmly committed to memory, delivered the deadly incantation.

Edmond's eyes blazed. His face distorted like a crazy-mirror reflection. Logan held steady to his purpose, repeating the recitation until Edmond was nothing but a twitching strand of shadow in the chilled air. Logan could feel the spirit still fighting as he stepped into the last of it and blew it away.

He slid down the wall, spent. He tried to look for Annie but a white light had taken his vision. The whiteness eddied—formed a tunnel—grew wide at the entrance. He could not go in there until he knew she was safe.

"I'm here, my love," he heard her whisper.

"You have to leave here," Logan rasped blindly. "Once and for all."

"It's all right now," she said softly, wetting his cheek with her tears. "He's crossed over."

The wail of an ambulance siren took her from his side. He heard her feet on the stairs, heard unfamiliar voices, then Tully's.

"Gauge! Where the fuck are you?"

The sound of Annie's sobs came up the stairs. "Please help him."

Logan relaxed against the wall, listening to feet pounding on the stairs. The tunnel's entrance began to close around him. He saw dark blue on the landing.

"I'm over here," Logan said.

Tully couldn't hear him.
Twenty-one

It was late afternoon when Annie unlocked the door to her house. Placing her keys in the pottery dish, she set down her overnight bag and looked at her living room. Except for the hole in the ceiling from the missing chandelier, the room was as always. Clean and tidy.

Moving to the stairs, her heart filled with joy when she sensed him. As he materialized, Annie gasped in awe. If it were not for the blackness of his eyes, she would have thought him a living man. That he could achieve this state so early in his transition, or that he could achieve it at all, took her beyond the limits of her understanding.

"Can you be real?" she asked as he descended the stairs to stand before her. In blue jeans and white tee, this man—this spirit—this magnificent composite of strength and beauty was surely an archangel.

"I thought it might comfort you," he said.

She dropped her head as a wave of grief swept her. Warm fingers slid under her chin to raise her face.

"Don't be sad, Annie. Never be sad."

Annie looked into Logan's eyes, seeing tenderness in the inky depths. "I've missed you so much. They wouldn't let me come home."

"The crime scene guys only finished yesterday," he said, dropping his hand. He smiled. "John Morgan came...told them to leave the place spotless for you. It was an interesting exercise, watching them working the scene of my death. And Nicole's."

"Are you all right?" she asked in a swell of concern.

"Let's sit."

He led her to the sofa, waiting until she was seated before taking a place beside her.

"How are you, Annie?"

She had expected the fire of lovers reunited after an unbearable ten days yet Logan had a remoteness—a formality about him.

"I'm glad to be home," she said. "Bernadette does fuss and of course she's furious I won't go to the police. She thinks it was Adam. Or you."

He looked at the scar on her throat. "Understandable."

"I tried to tell Bernadette it was Edmond but she doesn't believe in spirits."

He smiled a little. "A rational lady by the sounds of it. Have you spoken to your Aunt Cordelia about what happened?"

"There's no need now."

"Annie, after what that bastard did to you, you need all the help you can get."

"I have you."

Logan looked at her briefly before turning to stare at the fireplace. "How's Tully?"

"He blames himself for your death," Annie answered honestly, knowing a lie would be quickly recognized. "He wishes he'd stayed in the house to help you."

"I figured he would. He did the right thing." Logan looked at her questioningly. "He'll be blaming himself for Nicole as well."

"Yes."

"I doubt the guy has ever fired a shot in the line of duty, let alone kill anyone." Logan laughed bitterly. "Nicole must've gone straight to hell. She's not here. I heard one of the CSI guys say her body had been flown to L.A."

"Her father came to Erradale to attend your funeral. He spoke warmly of you."

"I always liked the old boy."

"Your parents and Hannah gave the eulogy. Billy cried the whole time."

Logan's head fell. "Poor kid. He'll be taking it hard."

"I could pass on a message to Hannah if you like."

"No," he said, looking up. "She wouldn't believe you."

Annie knew that to be the truth. "Yes, Hannah is very like you."

He didn't comment.

"Your colleagues from L.A. were there," Annie went on, "and so many Erradale residents. Harold Parks came. He said the house had always brought bad luck."

"He's right on that."

"I'll never leave you again," she said, touching his arm.

He stood and moved to the fireplace.

"What is it, Logan?"

He looked at her quietly. "Annie, I know what you want, what you expect to happen."

Annie swallowed the lump of fear rising in her throat. "I—I know I must be with you."

"You have to start afresh," he said impassively. "Make a life for yourself."

"We are together now, that's all that matters."

He looked down at his tee and jeans. "I've given you false hope."

"You are a powerful spirit, Logan, more powerful than he was. You can leave the house. We can..."

The flash of his black eyes froze her words.

"Don't you understand?" he said calmly in the face of her growing panic. "It wouldn't matter where I went. I cannot change what I've become."

"You are still the man I fell in love with. You've been given a second chance."

"There are no second chances for the dead, Annie."

She jumped to her feet. "Don't you dare cross over!" she cried, rushing to him. "If you do, I'll die!"

He caught her in his arms, rocking her gently. "Annie...Annie, I've loved you from the minute I saw you but I cannot give you a life."

"You are my life," she sobbed.

"Look at me," he said raising her face to look into her eyes. "What you see is a ghost. I cannot be a husband, give you children, grow old with you."

"I don't want those things. I only want you."

"You say that now. But in time you will regret those words."

Annie looked up at him pleadingly. "Why are you doing this? Am I ruined for you?"

He met her gaze fiercely. "Dear God, don't you ever think that! Promise me you will never think that."

Before she could answer, he kissed her. Annie met his kiss passionately, trembling at his power. Logan had become a fantastic fusion of mortal and spirit, everything about him heightened. The touch of him, the scent of him...even the taste of him was exquisite to her lips. Annie immersed herself in his steel embrace. There was nothing to fear now. He would make love to her. His powerful touch would heal her bruised body and mind. Their lovemaking would be so incredible he would never want to leave her.

Except Logan did not make love to her. He pushed her back to arm's length and held her there with his big hands. She saw her reflection in his dark, serious eyes.

"What you want cannot be," he said flatly.

Annie dropped her gaze, seeing his desire. "Don't deny us our love, Logan."

"Go upstairs and pack," he said, pushing her away. "Leave this house."

"I'm staying here with you," she said, trying to return to his arms.

He walked away from her.

"You can say what you like, Logan Gauge," she shouted desperately, "I will never leave this house so you might as well accept it!"

To her shock, he disappeared before her eyes.

Annie stood completely still, stunned. She tried to sense him but he was no longer in the house. He could hide his presence, she reasoned. He was just testing his power and her ability to sense him, that's all.

With the reassuring thought firmly in mind, she went upstairs to her bedroom to unpack Bernadette's clothes ready for laundering. Except one look at her bed had her quickly relocating to the spare bedroom. She started to sort the clothes but put them to one side as a wave of loneliness hit her. Logan had to return or she could not continue in this life. He'd know that and wouldn't abandon her. Not after everything they had been through. In fact, he could be here at any moment.

She must prepare for him. Taking a spare robe from the closet, she went to the bathroom and while the tub filled, busied herself with lighting candles, adding bath crystals to the water and tying up her hair.

Undressing, she stepped into the relaxing warmth, lying back to let the scented bubbles relieve her exhausted body.

Sleep came quickly. She was on a bed of rose petals and Logan was by her side. She could feel his breath on her face and his hands on her body. "My love," she murmured as his mouth found hers.

His kiss was deep and hungry. Annie felt the weight of him as he moved over her and lifted her hips. "I knew you would come back to me," she sighed, opening her eyes to welcome him.

She was alone. Unsure whether the experience had been a dream or actually happened, she climbed from the tub, trying to sense him but finding nothing. The feel of him had been real enough although now that she thought about it, the kiss lacked his tenderness. Yet, in the absence of a competing explanation, it had to be Logan.

Slipping on her robe, she went to the passage. Still nothing. She walked to the landing, suddenly aware of a presence behind her—not Logan but something else. She turned.

The creature was more beast than human. Its eyes were furnace-red with pupils slitted vertically like those of an animal. The face had the appearance of black suede and its mouth was red and loose. Dark hair covered the distended torso and below, the elongated limbs were hinged in such a way that they bent the creature forward in a half-crouch. The thing stood on hooves.

Annie had never seen anything like it but she knew it to be a demon. Cordy had warned her of their existence. These were the most powerful, most dangerous of fallen spirits for they drew their energy from Satan himself.

"Who are you?" she asked, her mind scrambling for an explanation as to how it had entered the house undetected.

Without answer it watched her with a quiet familiarity and in that dreadful instant, Annie knew.

"Edmond!"

He drew back his lips in the manner of a slavering animal. "Did you enjoy my touch, Arianna?"

Annie backed away from the ghastly sight. "Stay away from me, Edmond."

He sprang forward to snare her with a wolf-like paw. Annie felt the heat of his flaming eyes as he pulled her close.

"As you can see, my beauty," he said, "I crossed but not to where you hoped. I once told you I would make you as I am, Arianna. That time has come. And do not think of crossing over. Hell affords no escape."

Edmond's mouth descended on hers with fiendish savagery. Annie felt the air being sucked from her lungs, the force of the extraction bending her to the shape of an archer's bow. She felt no pain for her body had already begun its separation from the mind. Pinpricks of light danced in the air above her but when she reached out to touch them, they dissolved until there was only the sensation of the demon's cavernous mouth taking the last of her mortality.

She found herself floating high in the air above the bannister and saw her body tumble down the stairs, landing in the same place where Tessa's had lain. Her eyes were closed, her face deathly white, her mouth crimson from Edmond's fatal kiss. She started toward her body, but strong arms encircled her, held her back. Annie silently screamed to the spirit world for deliverance.

Edmond threw back his head and howled. From beneath them, a chasm of black opened. As they descended into the darkness, no light came from above and below there was only the path to Hell. Then hands from above slid over her and she felt herself jerked clear of Edmond's grip and hurled up into the light.

Logan hovered against the ceiling as a pale-faced apparition, surrounded by shadow so chilling, it coated the entire passage with ice.

"Logan," she cried, her own shadow ballooning wide as she rushed to him.

He caught her in one hand. "Go into your body, Annie, while you still have time."

"There is no need," she said, bewildered. "I am as you are."

"The brain can survive for six minutes without oxygen. You've used three. Go to your body and live!"

Disappointment made her petulant. "I will not!"

"You will do what I say!" he growled, propelling her to the stairs. "Edmond has opened a demon portal. He will return and others will follow. You are in danger."

"Then we will both leave."

"Your spirit is too weak to leave the house. To be free of him you must live, go from this house, this town. Don't you understand that?"

Annie understood very well her impossible choice. "They will come for you, won't they? Your spirit will be lost forever."

"This house is filled with evil—an evil that fuels my power. I can fight them but only if I know you are alive."

"Let me be by your side!"

"Listen to me, Annie," he said bringing her to eye level. His glimmering black eyes flared bright with the intensity of his words. "This is my atonement for you. I must do this."

"Please, Logan," she pleaded, struggling against his powerful hold.

He looked at her tenderly. "My love, this fight isn't for you."

"And after, what will you do?"

"Destroy the house to close the portal."

"No!" she cried. "I will never see you again."

"Go and live your life, Annie. Do it for me."

"If I live, Logan, I will find you!"

"You will leave Erradale," he said fiercely, pushing her ahead of him down the staircase. "And you will never come back! Never!"

Annie saw the pain of loss in his dark eyes. Not for a second did she doubt his power to defeat Edmond but a legion would surely prove insurmountable. She must help him. She must close the portal herself.

With a last, loving look at Logan, she left his hold and floated down the remainder of the staircase to return to her body. It felt a stranger to her but she put every ounce of strength into generating that first, vital heartbeat. A single flutter connected her to life. Another followed, then a third. She was almost there. A burst of air hit her lungs.

For a minute, she lay quietly before willing her legs to take her to her feet. Then she ran from the house, along the narrow path to the back yard and into the implement shed. The twilight had given way to night but she had no difficulty finding the can of gasoline on the shelf above the workbench. Entering the house through the back door, she took matches from the kitchen drawer and hurried to the living room. She sensed something supernatural in the house but she wasted no time dwelling on who or what it might be. Every second counted.

Opening the can, she trailed gasoline across the living room floor, up the stairs and along the passage. The presence was now on the stairs, blocking her exit. It filled the air with an oppressing miasma that had the stench of rotting flesh.

She struck a match. The small flame threw a light on the creature now closing in on her. Of similar appearance to Edmond, this demon was infinitely larger and more powerful as with every step, the floor quaked as though the house itself were in fear.

Annie did not hesitate. Dropping the match at the creature's feet, she ran for her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She could hear the fire in the passage crackle and gather strength and above it, the demon's snarl of fury. Then something joined it in the passage. Logan. The demon roared, a horrifying sound that reverberated through the house with such force, cracks appeared in the walls of her bedroom. She longed to go to Logan but she did not open the door. She must pose no distraction to him in this unearthly fight.

The demon's roars were now mingled with other noises, equally terrifying. The house rolled and heaved on its foundations, the violence of it lifting and splintering the floorboards. It seemed the house would shatter into a million pieces and be hurled across the whole of Erradale. As smoke began to curl under the door and choke the room with deadly fumes, Annie pushed up the window to check the fire ladder. The house's shaking had the wooden structure barely attached to the wall. Perching herself on the sill, she swung her legs out to place a foot on the top rung. It held.

By now the bedroom was in flames, the searing heat making treacle of the French polish on the armoire. Within seconds, the room would be consumed.

Annie stepped onto the ladder just as a fireball flew across the room, erupting her bed in flames. She took a step down. The rung cracked beneath her foot. The entire structure began to slip.

A steel ladder was thrust against the wall beside her. Someone shouted, "hang on."

She had only just pulled herself to safety when the fire ladder lost its grip on the house. Hands encircled her waist, guided her down to safety.

Standing on the sidewalk, surrounded by neighbors, Annie watched her house burn. It took less than a minute for the upper floor to collapse. Yet the staircase remained intact, glowing white hot—not from the intensity of the inferno but from the epic battle raging between good and evil.

Annie ran up the cobblestone path in a hopeless gesture of love. "Logan!"

Hands grasped her, held her back.

"He's on the staircase," she said, trying to pull from Sergeant Tully's grip. "I must be close so he can sense me...know I am safe."

The sergeant marched her swiftly back to the sidewalk. "Stay here."

Two fire trucks arrived. A firefighter, his arms full of gear, strode across to them. "Anyone in there, Tully?"

"No one. This is Arianna Harte. It's her house."

"Do you know where and how the fire started?" the firefighter asked her. "It'll help."

Annie nodded. "I poured gasoline up the stairs and along the passage, then lit it."

"What in hell did you do that for?!"

"The questions can wait," the sergeant said quickly. "Ms. Harte is in shock."

Annie looked gratefully at Sergeant Tully, seeing understanding in his eyes.

"Thank you," she said after the firefighter had joined his colleagues.

"After what I saw in there, I guess you had no choice but to torch it."

She touched his arm. "Logan asked after you. He says you were right to leave the house."

Sergeant Tully slipped off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. "You really talked to him, didn't you?"

"Oh yes, we spoke a short time ago."

Annie turned her gaze to the staircase. It had succumbed to the fire.

"But he's gone now."
Twenty-two

Her hair was longer. It fell across her face each time she bent to right a basket of dried flowers that refused to stand up in the breeze. The December air had turned her cheeks rosy and in her red sweater, green leggings and black boots, she looked like an elf.

As she turned to enter the store, she paused to look around, her expression puzzled. He moved back, worried she'd sensed him.

The basket tipped again so she propped it against the window and was almost in her store when she spun around to stare hard in his direction. His power to conceal was too strong to be breached by any sensitive but seeing her after so long had made him careless. At least she had no idea it was him. He would leave and return tomorrow and every day until he knew for certain he hadn't been followed.

It was too late.

She was coming across the street toward him, a small frown of frustration creasing her brow. She hadn't changed. Always resolute, always sure of herself, that was his Annie.

Stopping ten feet from him, she stared into the air. Several shoppers walked past her, seemingly indifferent to her odd behavior. An elderly man emerged from the drugstore next door and asked her if she needed help. With her customary frankness, Annie informed him she was attempting to identify a spirit. The man nodded as if this were a normal occurrence. Perhaps it was for Lipstone Creek although Logan couldn't say he'd seen more spirits here than anywhere else. Obviously, Annie was known in the town for her paranormal ability. Or perhaps they thought her mentally ill. If they did, they accepted it without judgment.

Logan moved forward to study her, struck to the heart by her appearance. Physically she was improved but there was little else to celebrate. She looked unbearably sad. It was as though the vivacious woman he loved had forgotten how to smile. How to live.

She looked straight at him, her eyes narrowed in concentration. He had been prepared to wait. Instead, he reached out and touched her cheek.

Her eyes rounded in shock. "Logan," she breathed.

Logan's eyes misted at the flash of joy on her face. Making himself visible to her, he gathered her close. She smelled of oils and spices and God knows what other delights she had in that store of hers. When he eased her back, she looked down at his old sneakers and ripped jeans, created especially for her to chide.

"You are untidy, Detective," she said on cue.

"I know you like a challenge."

She threw herself into his arms, clinging to him as though he might disappear. "I couldn't sense it was you."

"I know," he whispered, kissing her hair. "I watched you trying."

She leaned back to look up at him inquiringly. "You are different. Something has happened to you?"

"Yes."

He barely had to connect his powerful mind to hers to know her next thought. "I couldn't come to you sooner, Annie."

Her expression was compassionate, her tone without judgment. "You have much to tell me, haven't you?"

He clad himself in winter clothing and fully materialized. "You'll get cold," he said, slipping his arm around her shoulders. "Let's go inside."

They crossed the street. Cordelia's General Store—an old two-storied wooden building with two large bay windows, was somewhat as Annie had described, although it had obviously felt her touch. The weatherboards had fresh paint and the front door looked new. Inside, bolts of colorful fabrics were neatly shelved on one wall with rows of cottons, ribbons, buttons and zippers on a nearby stand. Dried flowers and an assortment of wind chimes hung from the exposed beams and the long wooden counter held fancy candles, soaps, perfumes and jars of confectionery. A tinsel-covered tree stood in one window, surrounded by small wicker baskets of potpourri. He could name almost everything in the store thanks to Hannah the baker, seamstress and maker of potpourri. No sacks of grain but she had packets of flower and vegetable seeds in a basket on the counter.

She locked the door and flipped the sign to 'closed.'

"Come," she said, leading him to the back of the store and up a set of narrow, creaking stairs to a doorway at the top.

Her home consisted of a single living area with an adjoining bathroom. An L-shaped kitchen filled one corner and a small wooden dining table and two chairs another. A three-seater sofa bed, decorated with colorful cushions and throws, sat in front of the fireplace with a plush red rug at its feet. Her home was welcoming, practically arranged and spotless. It was Annie.

"It's nice," he said.

"Cordy wanted me to stay with her," she explained, kneeling before the grate to build the fire. "But I decided to move in here after the manager left."

Logan felt the weight of her decision. She sought solitude, even shunning the company of her beloved aunt.

"I was wrong to push you away, Annie."

She lit the fire and stood to face him. "You thought it for the best," she said quietly.

"I was a damned fool."

The corners of her mouth curved up a little.

Logan's heart lifted at the sight. "I'm glad you agree."

Her head went to one side while she studied him. "Your illusion is very strong but something makes you different." She came closer, peering up at his face. "It's..."

"I'm not an illusion, Annie. I'm as real as you are."

She looked into his brown eyes disbelievingly. "But how can you be? Even he—he couldn't do that."

"He was a spirit."

It took her a second or two to interpret his words. "You are a demon!"

He nodded. "How or why it happened, I don't know. With each slaying, I turned...became more powerful...could transform myself to something close to mortal."

She put her hands inside his puffer jacket, examining his chest with her fingers. Logan took her small hands in his, seeing the red-stoned ring on her finger.

"Emmaline's?"

She nodded, looking down. "She wanted me to wear it for..."

When she looked up to meet his gaze, her eyes were filled with tears.

He drew her close. "God, Annie, every day I wanted to come to you, to tell you how much I love you."

"I love you too, Logan."

They moved apart to look at each other in silence. It reminded Logan of their first kiss on the pier—the deliberate holding back to heighten the need. He hadn't touched a living thing in months and already his senses, so acutely tuned to every nuance in his environment, told him he was about to experience a pleasure far above that first, exhilarating time with Annie.

They slowly undressed and Annie lay herself on the rug, smiling up at him. In the firelight, her naked slenderness made a decoration of flickering shadows and her eyes were dark and soft. Taking cushions from the sofa and kneeling beside her, Logan slipped one beneath her head, the other beneath her hips.

"Don't let this end," she whispered, looping her arms around his neck to draw him down. "Let this be forever."

When she took him into her body, he shook at his own sexual potency. Nothing had prepared him for the feel of her. Every frisson, every compression of her warmth was intensified to the euphoric.

"Take my power, sweetheart," he murmured against her mouth. "Feel what I feel."

When he infused her body with his energy, she cried out.

Now they were truly equal in their union. Sitting back on his haunches he drew her up so her knees were on the rug, each side of his thighs. She fastened her emerald eyes to his and with her hands clasping his shoulders for leverage, she made love to him, pumping him with a pace and rhythm that had Logan drowning in bliss.

He held her face, watching her build. She was a picture of rapture, her eyes shining, her cherry-red lips parted to release little huffs as she worked her body on his.

"Dearest," she whispered, smiling her delight. "I..."

She got no further. Logan felt her sex grip him hard. He had no clue on how his energy would affect her and he could barely believe what he saw. As Annie crested, her green eyes turned magically bright and her body glowed as though lit by a million tiny luminescent creatures. She looked like an erotic angel about to ascend to heaven.

She fell into his arms, quivering, and Logan took his turn, thrusting himself deep, feeling an intense, almost excruciating pressure rising up his shaft. His surroundings blurred, every blood vessel in his body throbbed under the strength of his ecstasy and when he flooded her, he swore he saw stars.

Afterward, they lay together in front of the fire. He felt no tiredness. His sex drive, always strong, was now so vigorous he could endure a marathon of lovemaking and bestow Annie the same stamina. But for now, he was content to have her snuggled close in happy satisfaction.

"Tell me what it's like," she said suddenly, lifting her head from his shoulder to study his face.

Logan smiled to himself. Ever inquisitive, Annie would not hold back on seeking to know him as a demon.

"Everything is amplified," he explained, amused by her eager expression. "Colors brighter, noises louder, touch more sensitive. There is unlimited speed, endurance, strength and the power to transform to other beings."

"What do you feel?"

"As a man, the same. When transformed, something else."

"What?" she pressed.

"Rage," he answered quietly.

She frowned at that and put her head back in his shoulder, then immediately raised it again. "What do you look like?"

"I'll show you but not today," Logan answered, encasing her tightly in his arms.

While his appearance was far less frightening than others of his kind, he could not countenance the thought of Annie seeing his other self. Not yet.

"Hannah," she said into his neck, "will you go to her?"

"No."

He had long decided against going to his sister. Swearing Hannah to secrecy would be futile. For all her kindness, she would not hold her secret for long. She would tell Ben and later the kids who, in turn, would tell their grandparents. The adults would not believe Hannah's claim. Mortlock would.

"Naturally, I must tell Cordy. She..."

"No," Logan said sharply. "No one must know."

"Why ever not?!"

Logan got to his feet to add wood to the fire. "Annie, there is a reason for this secrecy. I may have brought company."

Annie shuddered. "It's Edmond, isn't it?"

Logan shook his head. "That cowering weakling was my first, sweetest kill. I'm talking about the demon you saw in the passage. His name is Josiah Mortlock. I've been unable to destroy him. He seeks revenge. More than that, he sees me as a threat to his supremacy in the demon world."

Her eyes held a sudden fear. "How powerful is he?"

"Very powerful," Logan said when he'd returned to the rug and had her in his arms again. "I had hoped to shake him but it's possible he followed me."

"I couldn't bear to lose you again," she whispered.

He stroked the soft curve of her cheek. "You won't lose me. With each slaying I grow stronger."

Yet it would not be easy to dispatch Mortlock. He'd proved a worthy adversary, impossible to locate precisely, let alone slay. Their game of cat and mouse had continued for months until Mortlock had disappeared altogether.

"I haven't sensed him in Lipstone," Annie said into his thoughts. "I know every supernatural presence in town. He's not here."

"He can conceal his presence from sensitives just as I can."

She snorted indignantly. "I sensed you!"

"You sensed something," he corrected her, "and only because you distracted me."

"I'd know you anywhere," she said, smiling.

Logan did not return her smile. "There's something else, Annie. Something you must know. You closed the portal. It angered Mortlock. He knows your gift is strong, that your energy is valuable." He felt her tense. "He won't get past me."

"Are there others like him?"

He nodded. "I once told you not everyone is good. The demon world reaches everywhere—governments, corporations, places you would never dream of. Only a demon can sense another. Only a demon can slay another."

"What will you do?"

He gave her a lop-sided grin. "Hunt them down. I am a police officer, after all."

She looked at him with sad eyes. "It will never end, will it?"

"No, my love, it will never end." He ran his hand over her nakedness, overwhelmed by a sudden outpouring of love for her. Annie squirmed, arching to his caress. He slid his hand between her legs, seeing her green eyes darkening with desire as he stroked her. Her fingers found him. They lay without words, slowly arousing one another until they could no longer contain their need.

Logan had only just positioned himself above her when he froze. A faint noise came from downstairs.

"Heavens, that will be Mr. Worthington trying the door," Annie said, wriggling from under him. "He'll be so cross."

"Annie, stay here!"

"He said three o'clock sharp. He'll just keep on knocking if I don't answer."

"Annie!"

"What is it?" she asked, her leggings half way up her thighs. Her eyes turned frightened. "Logan...?"

He was worrying her needlessly. Distressing her. The demon would come at night, in stealth.

"Nothing," he answered. "Go and see to Mr. Worthington."

She finished dressing and went downstairs. Concealing his presence, Logan put himself at the rear of the store to observe. A man in his seventies, wearing a heavy woolen overcoat and black beret, stood at the counter.

"The polyanthus seeds came this morning," Annie said, staring past him toward the open door. "Mixed colors, just as you wanted. They'll make a lovely Spring display."

Ignoring the comment, the man's faded gray eyes scanned the room—locked on Logan. Mortlock must have slain recently for he had grown stronger. Bolder. To chance a brazen daylight kill showed arrogance. Logan couldn't risk a fight here in the store, not with Annie so close. He silently snarled. Mortlock stepped back.

"Are you all right, Mr. Worthington," Annie asked, placing the seed packets in a paper bag.

He returned his gaze to her.

"You don't seem your usual self today," she went on. "Is there something wrong?"

"How much?" Mortlock asked.

"They were more expensive that I thought. Eight dollars, but they are very good quality."

The demon retrieved a ten from the depths of his overcoat and placed it on the counter.

Annie opened the till to deposit the note. "Is there anything else I can help you with? I have some viola seeds."

Mortlock pocketed his purchase and, with another glance at Logan, walked out.

"How strange he is today," she said, when Logan appeared beside her. "He didn't wait for his change. And I'm sure I locked up."

"Come upstairs, sweetheart."

She relocked the door and went ahead of him up the stairs, stopping half way to look at him worriedly. "I hope he comes back. He's one of my best customers."

Logan picked her up to carry her the rest of the way. She would need to know the true extent of Mortlock's power—and his—but it could wait. She was safe. They were together. It was enough for now.

"Mr. Worthington will be back," he said, returning her to the rug. "I can guarantee it."

To be continued...
