Lost Souls

Caitlyn O’Connell 2

by

Delilah Devlin

Heartfelt thanks to my fans… always.

You’ve made my dreams come true.

1

“Caitydid, quick! Get the bell jar!”

Annoyed at the interruption, the girl looked up from the homework spread on the dining room table to see her mother dart through the room, her flowered skirt swishing around slender legs. Mama was heading toward the kitchen, her hands cupped together.

The girl’s stomach tightened in a knot. She knew where this action was heading—yet another attempt by her well-meaning mother to bring her daughter out of her blue funk. “Mama, now? I have a test to study for.”

Laughter trilled. “It’s only math! Algebra can wait. Come, I’ll need your help.”

The girl sighed and set down her pencil. A basic understanding of math was needed—even for spell-weaving. Morin understood that. Morin also understood the need for grieving. The dead deserved respect. Her mother’s seeming need to inject happiness in their quiet house grated. As she followed her mother, she dragged her feet.

Lorene O’Connell’s face was animated, bright circles of color on her cheeks. She looked more excited than she had in weeks. The girl felt slightly ashamed of her resentment over how her mama was beginning to move on. She’d much prefer they hold on to their grief a while longer. Her daddy deserved an ocean of tears in remembrance.

Still, she went to the cabinet and stood on tiptoe, searching with her fingertips for the crystal bell jar. When she found it, she inched the jar off the shelf until it tilted, and then quickly grabbed the bottom rim before the glass fell to the floor.

“Hurry, Caitydid.”

The girl’s lips pressed together. She hated the childhood nickname, wishing her mama wouldn’t treat her like she was still five years old. She was Cait, not Caitydid, not Caitlyn. She preferred the stark, crisp version of her name. The single syllable made her feel older than her twelve years, something she wanted desperately to be, because if she were older, Morin might look at her the same way he did her mother.

With a smoldering heat in his eyes that never failed to get either of the O’Connell women warm and flustered.

She hurried to her mama as the older woman set her cupped hands atop the counter. “Place the jar above my hands. Be ready. I’ll slide my fingers free.”

Holding the jar so that it touched the tops of her mother’s hands, Cait waited as Mama’s fingers opened slowly and a butterfly emerged, flying with frantic wings, fluttering toward the top of the jar.

Her mama eased her hands from beneath the lip, and Cait dropped it down, trapping the butterfly inside. She eyed it, feeling a little sorry for the creature but not overly impressed with its appearance.

The insect was ordinary, bright yellow with muddy spots, a hint of black at the edges of its wings. Small. She glanced up, studying the banked excitement in her mama’s eyes. Excitement that Cait thought was overkill. The bug was hardly a treasure. Dozens just like it flitted about their backyard garden.

“Isn’t he lovely?”

Cait shrugged. “It’s a butterfly.”

“A clouded sulphur.” Her mother’s gaze left the butterfly to pin Cait with a frown. “You really should pay attention to your other lessons.”

“Is this something Morin taught you?” Cait asked, wondering how she’d missed it. Because for him, she remembered every single thing he’d ever said and never had to be scolded for daydreaming.

Her mama’s cheeks brightened. “Never mind. You can help me. But first, I need to gather some ingredients.”

Cait leaned an elbow on the counter and set her chin on her hand, her gaze studying the butterfly as it bounced against the clear crystal trying to escape.

Her mother bustled around her, talking to herself as she gathered the items she’d needed for whatever she was about to cook up. “Saffron, alcohol… Vodka should do nicely. Gum arabic for thickening…”

Cait turned her head to watch her mother bring her conjuring chalice to the counter and straightened. So, this was a serious spell.

Her attention caught, she followed her mother’s motions as she took saffron strands she’d already steeped in boiling water and left to cool, and placed them in the bottom of the chalice. Mama poured in the yellow water, followed by a generous dash of alcohol, and then added a sprinkle of the thickening agent.

She stirred the brew with her slender, double-edged athamé, and then set it aside, her gaze going to the butterfly again. “Here’s where I need your help, darling.”

Another thing she didn’t like being called, because her mother only used that endearment when she wanted something. Badly.

But her curiosity was caught. “What do you want me to do?”

“I need the dust from the butterfly’s wings.”

Cait swallowed. “Do I have to pluck the wings?” It was just a bug, but that still seemed unnecessarily cruel.

Her mama laughed. “No, silly. The butterfly must live. He’s precious.” Her head tilted, and a dreamy smile stretched her mouth. “You really should have paid better attention to your bedtime stories. Don’t you remember? Psyche was a mortal woman who loved Eros, the god of love. She traveled to the Underworld and performed arduous tasks to earn the right to stand among the gods and marry Eros. She became goddess of the butterflies.”

“That’s a story. A myth. There was no Psyche.”

Her mother’s dark brow arched. “Are you so sure? But there is a goddess, Gaia. And she has given you gifts. You mustn’t anger her with your stubbornness or she could take them away.”

The girl refrained from continuing the argument. She’d never win it because her mother wasn’t the most logical person on the planet. She believed the stars determined her fate. That the Goddess had a reason for the tragedy they’d endured. A wave of melancholy swept her at the thought of her papa. He’d been so strong and brave, and yet his will and fate hadn’t saved him from a tiny bullet.

A sigh burst beside her. She glanced up at her mother, caught the edge of sadness in Lorene’s soft brown eyes, and shrugged off her own emotion. She was her daddy’s girl. He wouldn’t like her to get weepy-faced. Not when her mama needed her to be strong. “What do you want me to do?” she asked in a gruff voice.

“Think about your papa, sweetheart, and put your hand beneath the jar. Let the butterfly brush against your fingers. I need dust from its wings.”

Cait expelled a breath and did as she was told, raising the edge of the jar then slipping her hand underneath. She held her fingers still while the butterfly flew around them, his frantic fluttering tickling the tips.

“That should be enough.”

Cait removed her hand and held her fingers to the sunlight streaming through the small kitchen window. Fine yellow particles clung to her skin.

Mama held out the chalice. “Swirl the butterfly’s scales in the liquid.”

Cait dipped her fingers into the chalice and swirled, thinking of her papa, of his dark auburn hair, his thick shoulders and chest, his dark uniform and towering height. When tears began to gather, she drew back her hand. “What did we just make, Mama?”

“Butterfly’s blood—an ink I will use to write a spell.”

“What kind of spell?”

A moment passed. Her mother’s lips thinned. “Go finish your homework, Caitydid.”

Knowing her mother had no intention of telling her, Cait filed away the list of ingredients in her mind. A question she’d bring to Morin. Something for them to laugh over during her next lesson.

She eyed her mother’s retreating figure, and then glanced at the butterfly, still fluttering inside the crystal. The thought of it staying trapped upset her, so she sought a saucer, slid it beneath the jar, and carried her burden to the garden.

Darkness sank as murky as the sultry summer air, as heavy as a blanket pulled over a child’s head to hide the monsters lurking in a shadowy closet. Street lamps popped and sizzled, darkening then lightening, but failing to flare bright enough or long enough to chase away deep pockets of inky black. Cait was creeped out, since all she had were glimpses of silvery light from a full moon rimming buildings and casting deeper shadows to cloak alleyways and doorway stoops.

Another full moon. An event she was acutely aware encouraged monsters, both human and supernatural, to come out and play. Edgy and beyond bored, she almost wished for something out of the ordinary to happen, but then quickly changed her mind. The last time her job had given her a real challenge she’d battled a demon in an attic while a wraith latched its freezing fingertips around the man sitting beside her, slapping him around like a rag doll.

For just a second, she relished that last memory. At least Jason had been awake.

For the umpteen thousandth time that night, Caitlyn O’Connell sighed. This time exaggerating the sound. Loudly. Actually, more of a groan than a sigh. A sound that invited Jason Crawford, lying back in the seat beside hers, to wake up and keep her company. She was bored as freaking shit. Surveillance was the one part of her job she truly hated. In fact, she thought she might like having her ingrown toenails cut better than sitting in a dark alley waiting for something to happen.

The weather irritated her even more. Although she’d stripped down to a tank top and jeans, the insides of her boots were damp from the oppressive summer heat. Not a trace of a breeze stirred, and they’d shut off the sedan’s engine to be able to hear vehicles approaching, so the AC sat silent.

What good was having magic if she couldn’t even muster up a spell to start a breeze? She’d tried waving, punching, wiggling her nose, but nada. Worse, she’d tried to come up with a poem to appease The Powers That Be, but hadn’t found a line that sounded even remotely elegant with “wheeze” tacked on the end.

She supposed she’d used up her last favor asking for intervention with Worthen’s monstrosity, the Civil War–era demon resurrected in his tomb, for which she’d had to beg The Powers and a certain sorcerer for help defeating. Or perhaps they didn’t like how she’d ignored Morin since she’d fought the demon and won. Whatever. She was a PI, not a witch. And right now, she had a job to do.

So why couldn’t she and Jason be watching the Peabody Hotel? Or any of the nicer hotels in the downtown area? The Deluxe Hotel was anything but deluxe. The marquee above the entrance was missing a few letters and read, DELUXE HO, which on second thought appeared apropos for the sleazy dive.

The whole area had an aura of neglect. Trash overfilled bins and cluttered the gutters. Worse, a small tattered sign was taped to the hotel’s glass door: AA MEETING, 9 PM SATURDAY.

Mocking her. The very thing her ex-husband, and now sometimes boyfriend, had been nagging her to locate.

And worse yet, the car she sat in reeked of stale onion-and-anchovy pizza. If she didn’t know him better, she might have thought her partner had ordered it on purpose. But he’d munched away happily, while she’d chosen to drag in the scents from the overfilled bin they’d parked beside. Better unknown trash than fishy-smelling onion breath.

Her cheeks billowed around another harsh exhalation. How the hell could Jason sleep through all the noise she’d been making? She aimed a scowl his way, caught the quick lowering of his eyelids and a twitch at the side of his lips.

She gave a grunt and turned back to watch the entrance of the seedy old hotel where Mrs. Oscar Reyes was scheduled to meet up with her boy toy. Or so Mr. Reyes had informed them this morning after hacking into his wife’s Facebook account.

“Get me pictures of the bitch,” he’d said, clearing his throat when Cait had given him a narrow-eyed glare. “I won’ believe it ’til I see.”

She’d eyed his oily hair, brushy mustache, and stocky frame and wondered why he was so surprised his wife had sought the attention of a lover who called her his “mariposa rubia.”

“Blonde butterfly,” Jason had translated under his breath since Cait’s Spanish was limited to curses.

Oscar Reyes was the typical slimy client they attracted—spouses seeking ammunition for divorce court, employers wanting an employee followed for proof they hadn’t been injured badly enough to warrant workmen’s comp.

Since Oscar had already done the legwork and found cyberproof of his wife’s infidelity, Cait wondered why the hell he’d hired them to snap the shots. A $500 retainer plus their hourly fee would rack up quite a bill in no time. But she’d refrained from asking him.

The nice fat check they’d gotten from the Memphis PD for helping find her first partner’s killer and three young women who’d been kidnapped by a demon hadn’t lasted long. So she and Jason were back hustling for smaller fish.

Which reminded her again of the half-eaten pizza in the backseat.

Ready to pitch the box into the trash bin, she paused when headlights flared as a car turned onto South Front Street. A low-slung sedan stopped in front of the hotel.

Cait waited for the beams to extinguish, and then raised her camera with its night-vision lens and took a look. Just as Oscar had predicted, Sylvia Reyes stepped out of the car, her bleached-blonde hair neon bright in the viewfinder. She wore an ass-hugging miniskirt, four-inch heels, and a top that rode the curves of her full breasts.

Cait clicked off a couple of shots of the woman entering the hotel, then reached out and backhanded Jason’s belly. “Time to move.”

“Mmm, wha’?” he said, pretending to waken from a deep sleep.

She rolled her eyes. “Like you’ve been sleeping? It’s Reyes’s wife. Let’s see if we can catch her with her boyfriend.”

“Sound grumpy.” Jason flashed her a smile. “The anchovies gettin’ to you?”

She shrugged, pretending the stench hadn’t made her slightly nauseous. “It’s your car. The smell’ll be here for a week.”

With quiet moves, they opened their doors. Cait quickly replaced the special lens and hung the camera on her shoulder before jogging to the entrance. She pushed through the grimy glass, lifted her head in a vague nod to the clerk at the reception desk, and walked to the elevators, eyeing the red digital numbers above the doors. There were two elevators. Only one was moving, and it stopped and held at floor three.

She elbowed past two men and a woman laden with cameras and equipment bags. One held out a device Cait thought might be a light meter, but she changed her mind when a red light beeped on the top and it clicked like a Geiger counter.

“Do you see that?” the chubby man with a Fu Manchu said, elbowing the skinny dude beside him. “We’ve got something here.”

“Told you there’s lots of activity in this old place.”

Activity? She eyed them again, read the logo on their bags, and rolled her eyes. REEL PIS: PARANORMAL INVESTIGATORS. As if. She stuck her finger in the elevator button, doing her best to ignore the morons. She hadn’t heard so much as a whisper or a wail since she’d entered the hotel.

“Faster goin’ up the stairs,” Jason said, pulling her arm with one hand and pointing toward the stairway door. He flipped the door handle and pushed through. “After you,” he said with a flourish of his hand. His grin said he knew how much she disliked racing up three flights.

She gave him the stink-eye and started the climb. When she reached the third-floor landing, she glanced through the door’s rectangular window, saw no one in the hallway, and opened the door.

The corridor smelled as bad as it looked—urine to complement the yellowed beige walls, mildew to enhance the brown-and-green plaid carpet.

Gasping to catch her breath, she looked left, then right, and caught a flash of impossibly blonde hair a moment before Sylvia Reyes turned the corner farther down the hallway. Cait hurried after her, on the scent of a woman about to cheat on her husband. She turned the corner, entering a hallway marked by a door frame for a double door that no longer existed. The corridor was empty. No room doors along the short hall closed to indicate where their target had gone.

Jason drew up beside her, his eyebrows rising. “What now? Listen for moaning?”

Giving him a shove, she took a step past the hallway door frame, and then halted, some instinct keeping her from pushing forward. Or maybe what stopped her was the yellow police tape covering one of the doors. Not something she had time to ponder right that moment because a strange hum sounded. A bulb popped, plunging the hallway into darkness. The hairs on her arms lifted a second before electricity arced from a light switch, sending out a bolt like lightning that shot toward the ceiling, then turned, traveling toward her, hitting doorways as though searching for ground. The jagged dagger of electricity darted, then blinked out, but not before she saw a figure, one in four-inch hot pink heels, her eyes rounding in terror—a figure she could see straight through to the piss-yellow wall behind her.

Darkness took the figure. Then another hissing arc flared from the light switch, brightening the hallway again. Sylvia Reyes was gone.

Jason grabbed her arm, pulled her back around the corner, and flattened her against the wall with an elbow digging into her belly.

The white bolt flickered past the corner, then dove to the floor, sparking out with a fizzle.

“Bad wiring?” he whispered.

She shook her head, shoved away his elbow, and stepped into the hall again. The faint smell of something burning lingered in the air. The hall was once again empty. And dark.

Cait held still, listening, and then she heard the sound. A soft wail. Like a distant echo. “Hear that?” she whispered.

“No. What do you hear?”

She swallowed. “Not anyone living.”

Then the faint sound of whispers rose, maybe half a dozen voices joining in chorus. Her hand dropped to the camera at her side. She flipped off the lens cap, raised the camera, and looked through the viewfinder. Nothing out of the ordinary, other than a really sleazy flophouse. Still, she clicked off a couple of shots. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t want to wait around until she leaves? A shot of the lady kissing her boyfriend good-bye would close this case.”

Cait shook her head, not wanting to voice what she suspected. Not before she was sure of exactly what she’d seen. “No. Let’s get back to the office. I have to look at something.”

Jason knew her well enough not to ask any more questions. The fact she was cutting the surveillance short told him they had a problem.

This time they took the elevator. The sooner she got out of here the better. Well, she’d gotten what she’d wished for. Something out of the ordinary had definitely happened.

Back at the Delta Detective Agency, Cait slipped the memory card from her camera into the slot in her computer. With a couple of clicks, she found the file of pictures and opened it.

There was Sylvia Reyes outside the Deluxe, her small catlike features coated in too much makeup, her coarse blonde hair flattened to rest limply on her shoulders. Her expression was furtive, but excitement sparkled in her dark eyes. Another shot caught her too-tight skirt hugging her J.LO butt. Then Cait clicked on the last two shots, unsure what she might see inside the third-floor hallway. Maybe nothing. Maybe something she didn’t want to see.

The shot showed an empty hallway. The photo was blurred, but the differences between the hall’s actual appearance and what was on the computer screen was startling. Gone were the yellowed walls and crappy brown and green carpet. In its place was wallpaper—a foiled gold-and-wine-colored paisley. The carpet was a solid blood red. The fixtures—lights, switches, brass plates on the door—were shiny and new.

“Where’d you take that?” Jason asked, hovering at her shoulder.

“At the Deluxe,” she said, closing out the file. She suppressed a shiver of dread.

“No kiddin’? How come I didn’t see that?”

She didn’t dare look his way. He’d see her shock and ask more questions. Questions she didn’t have any quick answers for.

“Tacky as hell, but—”

She gave a sharp shake of her head. “That’s not the way it is.” At last, she shot an upward glance.

Jason pushed out his lips. His gaze settled on her, waiting.

She knew he wouldn’t let her up from the chair until she gave him at least a clue of what was going on in her head. “It’s the way the hotel was.”

His gaze narrowed. “What do you mean?”

She rubbed a hand over her face. “I don’t know what I mean.”

A frown dug a line between his blond-brown brows. “I don’t think Reyes is going to pay us for those shots or our time since we didn’t get what he wanted.”

“Reyes is the least of our problems,” she muttered.

Jason groaned. “It was the anchovies, right? This is your revenge?”

Her mouth tipped up into a smirk. “You think this is all about you? Poor little rich boy.”

He shook his head, grinning, but the fine lines beside his hazel eyes deepened with worry. “Since this case looks like major woo-woo is involved, you have the lead. Where to first?”

Cait grimaced. Once again, she had no doubt they were headed straight down the rabbit’s hole. “I need to talk to Sam about that taped-off room.”

2

At Cait’s apartment, Sam Pierce felt along the top of the door frame, and then cursed as his fingers encountered cool metal. Heat filled his cheeks as anger boiled up. But he hesitated before barging in. Instead, he opened his palm and stared down at the brass Brinks key. For the first time since he’d resumed his on-again/off-again relationship with his ex-wife, he studied the key, his detective’s instincts kicking into gear.

This was no dusty, corrosion-encrusted key. The metal gleamed in the light cast by the lamp outside her door. If what he suspected was true, Cait hadn’t simply forgotten about the key being there all this time. She’d replaced it.

But why? And when?

She’d had no idea they would be pulled together again on the Worthen case, that he’d be ordered to stay on her tail day in, day out, until the investigation ended. And yet, the first time he’d sought her out after nearly a year of forcing himself not to check, not to care, this shiny new key had been there. Waiting.

It’s what enabled him to break into her apartment that first morning when he’d been scared shitless she was somehow involved with the murder of Henry Prudoe, the incident that launched their investigation. The key’s presence was what allowed him to continue to enter at will, take what he wanted of her, then quietly leave again.

He’d warned her time and again about leaving that key where a thief or someone looking for something even more precious might find it.

The mystery of the key wouldn’t be solved by simply asking. Stubborn, with an itchy allergy toward straight talking, Cait would never admit she’d outright lied about forgetting it was there. He inserted the key, turned the lock, opened the door, and returned the key to the ledge.

Inside, the foyer was empty and dark. A step deeper into the apartment, he noted the kitchen and tiny living room were empty. He eyed the bedroom but sensed he wouldn’t find her there either. These days, she couldn’t sneak up behind him because he’d developed a sixth sense. Or maybe he was just reverting to a more primal version of himself, and he could scent her without realizing he did.

Right now, her soft, feminine musk was absent. Another familiar smell missing from the apartment was the sour odor of booze. Something he didn’t take for granted, because Cait’s sobriety was still so fragile.

Pulling his iPhone from his pocket, he tapped the screen, found her number, and tapped again.

She picked up on the first ring. “Hey.”

“You still on stakeout?” he asked.

“Finished a little while ago,” she said, an edgy energy in her voice. “Just went by your apartment, but you weren’t there.”

His eyebrows shot up. Cait never came by his place. He thought maybe she didn’t want proof he’d managed to move on after their divorce. Which suited him fine. Last thing he wanted her to see was evidence he hadn’t. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s not a good idea to leave your key on the door frame?”

“Only one ever used it was you.”

He grunted. “So you always say.”

“If you’re so worried about it, why not put it on your key ring?”

Sam paused. Not the grumpy response he’d expected. And her voice held a breathless note, like the question meant more than she wanted to let on.

He decided to ignore her suggestion, because the act would be another step toward a commitment he wasn’t ready to make again. But he didn’t tell her that. He didn’t want to hurt her. “How far away are you?”

“Pulling up now.”

He turned and lifted a slat in the blinds to watch her car slide in beside his.

“Oh look, I have an intruder,” she said, humor lightening her voice. “I might have to draw my gun.”

“You don’t carry a weapon,” he muttered, retracing his steps.

“That wasn’t the kind of gun I was talking about.”

His cock pulsed at her deep-throated drawl. A grin teased at the corners of his mouth. He opened the front door and leaned against the frame, pretending he wasn’t eager to grab her up and toss her on the first soft surface he could find.

“Glad you’re here,” she said, still holding the phone to her ear as she stepped out of the car.

Sam shoved his into his back pocket and folded both arms across his chest, waiting as Cait sauntered toward the door. Her hips swayed, her eyelids dipped as she raked his frame with a glance that said just how happy she was to see him. She halted mere inches away, tilting her chin to meet his gaze. Not that far, because even though he was taller, her boots added a couple of inches.

His heart started its happy dance, thrumming in his chest, but he held still, waiting to see what her first move would be. She always managed to surprise him, whether aiming barbs to incite his anger, which invariably turned to lust, or rarely, letting him see a hint of vulnerability. He’d always been a sucker for those infrequent moments when she let down her walls and allowed him inside her complicated mind.

Cait tucked a lock of wavy red hair behind an ear while her mossy green gaze ate him up. But rather than move in for a kiss, she leaned away.

“Why were you looking for me?” he asked, arching a brow. “Something you needed?”

Her head shook, and she gave a soft feminine snort. “Think you have anything I need?”

He aimed a smoldering glance at her green eyes. “I recall you needing something just last weekend. Something you got on your pretty little knees to beg for.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Not fair. And you’re not going to distract me until after we talk.”

“But you want some distracting?” he asked hopefully.

Cait laid a palm against his cheek. “Baby, you know I love it when you make me forget everything.”

At her touch, he gave a little growl but moved out of the door to let her pass, cupping her ass for a quick feel as she stepped inside.

Her bottom wiggled, but she strode away, setting her purse and a camera on the coffee table. Then she plopped onto the couch and tugged off her boots. “The PD has a room at the Deluxe on South Front Street taped off,” she said, not looking his way.

Which should have warned him she was about to drop a bomb. Sam sucked in a breath. Surprised, but not for the sexy reason he’d expected. But why was he shocked? Hadn’t he known their professional paths would intersect again—especially given the strange circumstances of the investigation he’d been asked to lead? “Third floor? Room 323?”

Her gaze swung, locking with his. “Exactly.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait. Why were you here? You knew I’d be on stakeout until late. Thought we weren’t meeting until Friday.”

Sam frowned. “Leland wants you.”

“Another case?” Her glance held steady. “The room?” At his nod, she cursed. “I knew it,” she muttered, lips tightening.

“I’ll show you what I have if you show me yours.”

Her cheeks flushed, and her lips stretched. “No more sexy talk. I can’t think when you say things like that. Another full-moon case?”

“Right up your alley, baby.”

She pushed off the sofa and walked toward her bedroom.

He trailed behind.

When her face turned toward his again, her expression was tight, her skin a little pale. “Ready for another round of crazy train?” she asked softly.

Sam wasn’t ready for another case like the last one, but if he wasn’t the one to bring it to her, Leland would rope her in anyway. His boss, her old nemesis, was a believer now. “So long as you let me have your back.”

Her eyelashes fluttered. “Sure that’s all you want?” she drawled.

Sam canted his head. “Thought you wanted to lose the sexy talk.”

She walked to him and leaned against his chest, rubbing her breasts against his body. Her eyelids dipped. “Is that really what you want?”

Knowing she was stalling, but not caring since her nipples were tight and scraping his chest, he dipped his head toward hers. “Maybe we should get this out of the way before we get down to business.”

“I like the way you think, Detective Pierce,” she said, her hands flicking open the buttons of his dress shirt.

Sam inhaled deeply, content to let her do the work while he watched. He lifted his hands to cup her hips and drag her against the part of him most eager for her attention.

“You’re not making this any easier,” she murmured, bending slightly back so she could finish with the buttons. Then she slid his shirt off his shoulders, forcing him to let go so the garment could fall to the floor.

Then all bets were off. He rucked up his T-shirt, dragging it over his head. Her busy fingers were already freeing his belt, opening his trousers, and reaching inside—

The moment she wrapped her firm grip around his shaft, his eyes squeezed shut. “Jesus, Cait.”

“Love the way you say that,” she said, her voice a throaty murmur.

Her hair brushed his belly, and he opened his eyes, eager for the sight of her dropping to her knees in front of him. With one hand holding his cock, she bobbed forward, taking him into her mouth. Engulfed in sweet heat, he rocked on his heels. Then she grabbed for the waistband of his trousers and shoved them down his tightened thighs.

She’d forgotten his shoes, and he couldn’t step out of his clothing. Maybe that was her intent, because she scrambled backward and began removing her own clothes, slinging away her tank and shoving down her jeans, all the while watching him with a slightly wild glint in her eyes. When she was nude except for her bra, she grabbed his arm and swung him toward the bed.

He went down, sitting on the edge, his feet bound together. She didn’t mind. Her smirk was wide, her eyes glittering with triumph as she straddled his lap and shoved at his chest, forcing him to lie back.

Above him, she shook back her long hair, looking every inch the exotic Irish witch: pale skin, rusty brown nipples, dark thatch of hair between her legs. Her slender but strong frame undulated, the muscles of her abdomen bunching then stretching as she rubbed her sex along his length. She leaned down, bracing on her arms as she scooped his lips with her own lushly swollen mouth.

He kissed her back, his arms encircling her. “This would work so much better if you got my shoes off,” he whispered.

“Think I want you in charge?”

The challenge heated his blood. He gave her a rueful smile. “Don’t you always?”

She traced his mouth with a stroke of her tongue. “Maybe I don’t want this over fast.”

He stuck out his tongue and flicked her bottom lip. Her breaths deepened, and she came down on her elbows, her mouth locking with his.

Suctioning against her wet lips, he knew he had her. Her hips rolled, sliding on him, unable to capture the tip of his cock because it was trapped between their bodies. And he wouldn’t allow her the room she needed.

Cait nipped his chin, her eyebrows drawing together in a sexy frown. “Dammit, I hate it when you’re right.”

He chuckled, sliding his hand to the back of her neck, still keeping her close.

She licked his teeth between his smiling lips. “Tell you what,” she whispered. “Let me go, and I’ll slide off. Get off the last of your clothes, and then we’ll wrestle to see who’s on top.”

Sam grunted, knowing the only way she’d win would be if he let her. “Think you can beat me?”

Her eyelids swept down, and she gave him a rare, flirting glance from beneath the fringe of her dark lashes. “Three, two, one!” She rolled away.

He jackknifed up to reach for his boots, sending them flying, and then shoved his trousers off his feet.

She was on him before he had a chance to face her, her arms clamping around his shoulders from his side and pulling him down to the bed, her sturdy, slim legs slipping over his hips. With a triumphant laugh, she came over him.

With his large hands, he cradled her hips. “Think you’ve got me now?”

Her hips lifted. Her slick sex slid along his cock and then wriggled at the tip to center it. With a sexy roll of her hips, she impaled herself. “Don’t I?” Then she groaned. “Sweet Jesus, that feels good.”

Sam heaved up, his arms coming around her as he stood. Her thighs gripped his hips; her legs crossed behind him. He took a couple of steps forward and flattened her back against the bedroom wall. “Sure about that now?” He bent his head toward hers, locking with her sparkling green gaze.

“I do believe I have you right where I wanted you. I win,” she whispered, her lips an inch from his, her hot breath wafting against his mouth.

“I control every move,” he countered, giving her a swirl of his hips that brought him deeper.

Air hissed between her teeth. Her lids fell halfway. “Waiting for something?”

“For your surrender.”

“Why does that sound so sexy coming from you?”

He shook his head, enjoying the moment, because they both knew she’d concede, but she liked drawing out the foreplay—a long tease that fired both their senses.

Sam slipped his hands to her rump and gave both cheeks a hard squeeze. Her breaths came faster. Her nipples were spiked and poking at his chest. He dropped his gaze for a look, then groaned. What he wanted was one of them in his mouth, and he couldn’t bend that low, not with her staked on his cock and crammed against the wall.

A warm, husky chuckle shook her.

Glancing up, he caught the smile twisting her lips.

“Just ’cause you’re bigger doesn’t mean you’re in charge,” she whispered, and then gave him a squeeze with her inner muscles, one so strong his cock pulsed inside her.

Suddenly, waiting for her to cry uncle wasn’t a priority.

His mouth slammed on her smiling lips, and he began to pump his hips, pushing deep then dragging away. The sensation of gliding in her hot, silky depths… indescribable, mind-blowing.

Reduced to grunts and groans, he pounded her, letting her have her victory, ready to concede all for the pleasure of being with her like this.

Cait’s slender hands glided up his chest and around his neck. Fingertips scraped his scalp. He ended the kiss to press his forehead against hers and watch her expressions as he continued to thrust hard inside her.

Her cheeks were red, her mouth pouting. Her eyelids dipped and rose with his movements, tiny mewls of pleasure escaping as their bodies writhed together. “The bed,” she gasped.

He shook his head and tunneled deeper, not wanting to pause the drugging motions for even a second.

“Please, Sam.”

Christ, he loved to hear her beg. But she wasn’t desperate enough, wasn’t clawing at him, fighting him. Her head bounced back against the wall, and she arched her back, trying to make space between them, trying to deny him.

“Sam, Sam.” Her head lolled, side to side; her lips trembled.

At last, he felt the faint ripples in her channel, and she tightened around him.

He bit her shoulder to halt her orgasm, backed away from the wall, and turned toward the bed. Then with an arm wrapped tightly around her, he crawled onto the mattress, all the way to the center, before stopping to free his hand. He planted both on either side of her shoulders and glanced down at her heaving chest.

“No,” she moaned, wrapping her legs around him to hold him inside.

But he was stronger. And although he was close to exploding himself, these sexy battles they waged had a purpose. One he was a little too lust-addled to name right this moment.

With an effort, he got his knees beneath him, pushed up, and pulled away, slowly dragging his cock from the haven of her moist, hot depths.

Her hands gripped his shoulders, pinching his skin. “Never took you for mean,” she grumbled, but her eyes sparked with heat.

Sam wrapped his fingers around her forearms and forced her hands from his body. He dragged them above her head, brought them together, holding them in one of his. After giving her one hard kiss, he moved downward, determined that this time, he’d stay in control.

Cait’s legs quivered as she bent her knees and slowly slid up her feet. She let her thighs fall open, knowing the sooner she gave him what he wanted, the sooner she’d get what she needed.

Sam on a mission was the sexiest sight to behold—tanned skin stretched over a burly, powerful frame. She reveled in his strength, in the hard, heavy muscle that so easily overpowered her. And yet, despite his rough handling, he was careful. Maybe not even aware that he was, because she’d seen him in action before, knew the damage he could do when he let go.

While he claimed she pushed him past the brink, he delivered measured punishments, hard thrusts that never left her feeling bruised inside. A clutch of thick fingers that left only the sexy kind of marks, something she loved because afterward, each tiny twinge reminded her of his careful domination.

And although she’d just complained because he’d arrested her orgasm, her body blossomed anew beneath his attentions, pleasure curling tighter and tighter inside her core.

His mouth trailed the edge of her jaw. His tongue laved her neck, the jut of her collarbone, then he moved lower, licking and nipping the sensitive skin of her breasts until he hovered over one engorged nipple.

She gave a husky shout when his teeth closed around the tip, but dug her fingers in his thick, dark hair and pulled, letting him know she wanted him right there.

When his lips latched around the areola, her body stiffened, hips pumping upward but halted by the weight of his torso pinning her to the mattress.

As helpless as a butterfly pinned to a mounting board, she struggled to move and ease the ache pounding between her thighs. “Dammit, Sam.”

“Huh,” he gusted, releasing her nipple to bite his way along her abdomen, the shock of his targeted nips causing her belly to quiver.

When he scooted down her body, he paused, centered, his face just above her sex. His head tilted, and he captured her gaze. Without looking down, he used his thumbs to spread her folds and extended his tongue to lap at her clit.

Cait’s jaw sagged. Small desperate moans clawed their way from her throat as he tortured her with licks and taps that ratcheted her toward a peak she couldn’t escape. “Sam, please,” she groaned.

“Who’s in charge now, sweetheart?”

“You! Oh God, you!”

He dropped his face and stroked through her folds, taking the moisture slipping from inside her. Then fingers entered her, two thick digits, and she pumped shallowly, up and down, needing them deeper, needing him to fill her. Her head thrashed side to side, her body shuddered from shoulder to thigh. As the first wave of pleasure exploded in her core, she opened herself wider and thrust up her breasts.

Then he was on top, somehow instantly inside her, gliding his cock deep into her wet channel, riding the storm he’d created that never ebbed as he drove deeper and deeper.

He paused only a moment to cup her ass and bring her closer, where he jerked and burrowed, his shoulders spread above her, his lips pressing wild kisses against her cheeks, her chin, at last landing on her mouth to smother her cries. Soon, his own muffled shouts echoed against the walls of her small bedroom.

They moved together, and Cait wrapped herself around him, hugging him to her body because he was the answer to every question, the source of every pleasure. Her Sam. Her husband…

At those two words, her eyes widened. She dropped her head to the mattress and watched his face as he continued to shiver, sweat sprouting on his forehead and dripping into his closed eyes. Strained features slowly eased. His eyelids blinked open, and then his gaze found hers.

They shared no smiles. Her eyes were filled, his features blurring. When he softly dropped his full weight upon her, she accepted the burden, breathed out when he inhaled, finding a different rhythm that emphasized the fact that together, like this, they worked.

Cait turned away her face and closed her eyes.

Sam pushed up on his hands and extricated himself, rolling to his back beside her.

Separated, she felt a moment of panic until he reached for her hand and held it inside his.

“We need to talk,” he said softly.

Without looking his way, she nodded. “We do. But can it wait until morning?” Nothing she could do to help Sylvia right now anyway.

“Sure.” He shifted beside her, his hands turning her and spooning their bodies together. She lifted her head and rested it on his upper arm, a solid pillow, an intimacy she missed whenever they slept apart.

“Mornin’, then. But you’re coming to the station. Easier to explain.”

“Sure,” she echoed. Then with his warm breath gusting against her ear, his heavy arm anchoring her against his body, Cait drifted into sleep, held safe inside her love’s arms.

3

Early the next morning, they stopped to pick up Jason on their way to the Criminal Justice Complex. “You both need to hear this,” Sam said, his tone all business. “Saves repeating it.” His steely stare said he didn’t want any secrets kept from him either.

Cait wrinkled her nose, knowing he was scolding her in a not-so-oblique way because she had a habit of holding on to clues until she’d had time to figure out what they meant or whether they were relevant. Something that annoyed him to no end.

Like the knowledge that Sylvia Reyes, a woman he didn’t know about yet, had somehow died the night before. Cait did feel a niggle of guilt for not sharing that fact with Jason last night, but he was used to her ways, having worked side by side since she’d been encouraged to resign from the Memphis PD. And she intended to talk to both Sam and Jason about it, but the drive to the station was too short. Or at least that was her excuse, and she was sticking to it.

Striding down the corridor toward the Homicide Bureau in front of the two most important men in her life, she admitted she’d made a conscious choice to not even consider talking to one other person, someone who might actually make sense of what she’d seen. Soon enough, she’d have to face that prospect. For now, she had enough worries on her mind. Like walking the gauntlet of desks lined up in the murder room. She glanced around the open area, amused by the wary, curious glances from the detectives she received.

The last time she’d been here, she’d been debriefed regarding the kidnapping and murder case that had kept the city riveted for weeks afterward. Stories of satanic rituals involving mummified women had shouted from the tabloids but had received a gloss of ordinary after Lieutenant Leland Hughes worked some PR magic of his own. A skin-walking demon who’d stolen women to devour as part of a spell to make him immortal was lost. Worthen’s demon became one unhinged perpetrator who’d left booby traps in a vacant house where he’d been “storing” his captives to serve his deviant desires.

Although she and Leland rarely saw eye to eye on anything, she was the first to admit Leland had shown genius worthy of a novel spinning that tale.

“Didn’t even get a chance to miss the place,” she murmured as they trailed inside Leland’s cramped office and closed the door.

The middle-aged curmudgeon sat behind his desk, same bulldog expression, his upper lip curled like he smelled something bad. Must have gotten hold of a slice of Jason’s pizza, she thought, suppressing a smile.

“Glad you all could make it,” he said, but his expression tightened.

Like he didn’t look at all happy to see her.

“Glad to see you’ve recovered,” she said, her voice just as falsely polite.

His eyes narrowed as he flashed her a tight smile.

At the sight, she nearly choked with laughter. His front teeth, shiny and impossibly white, looked like a row of Chiclets.

“Nice teeth,” she gasped.

“Temporary crowns,” he growled. “The final set are being made.”

Since she’d been the one who’d broken his teeth by shoving the end of a bellows in his mouth to extract a demon, she decided to refrain from making any other comments about his appearance. “Whatcha got?” she asked, looking at Leland and then Sam, who hadn’t taken a seat but hovered by the door.

“Why don’t you start by telling us what you were doing last night at the Deluxe?” Leland said. “We’ve had the place under surveillance. One of my men said you were parked outside for hours.”

Surprised by his comments, she sat straighter in her chair.

Jason cleared his throat, no doubt to avert any attempt on her part to drag out the explanation and possibly to prevent her from leaving out any salient details. She wrinkled her nose at him and then slumped back, giving Jason the lead. Her partner had tact, something she found occasionally helpful.

Jason leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees. “We were hired by a man who wanted us to follow his wife. He found evidence she might be cheating and wanted us to verify.”

“The name of your client?” Leland barked.

Jason gave Leland a polite smile. “How about we keep his name out of this until we know if it’s relevant? We have a duty to protect our client’s privacy.”

Leland pursed his lips but then gave a curt nod. “The PD was called to investigate a murder. Workers hired to fix some leaky pipes found a body stuffed in the wall of one of the rooms. ME says it’s been there for decades. For shits and giggles, I had them run the DNA, hopin’ maybe we’d find a relative somewhere in the system.” His gaze sharpened, then went directly to Cait. “Wanna know what we found?”

Cait caught herself just before she rolled her eyes. Talk about building the drama.

“She was in the system all right.” He picked up a folder in the center of his desk and sent it sliding toward her. “Name’s Sylvia Reyes. She was in the database. Ten years ago, she claimed to be raped by a john when she was a workin’ girl. Case was dropped. But that’s why we had her DNA. Wanna tell us how some woman who wasn’t born ’til 1984 has been dead for forty or fifty years?”

Blood drained from Cait’s head, leaving her slightly dizzy.

Jason cleared his throat, catching her attention. He glared and tilted his head toward Leland. He gave his silent signal. It was time for her to spill.

She blew out a deep breath, dropping all attitude as she met Leland’s eagle gaze. “The target of our investigation was Sylvia Reyes. She was alive last night, until we almost caught up to her near that room you have taped off.”

Leland’s face froze. “You witnessed a murder and didn’t report it?”

The visions of what she’d seen flitted through her mind. She shook her head. “No, I saw a live woman walk around a corner, then a see-through version of her staring back at me seconds later.”

Behind her, Sam cussed under his breath.

Leland’s face screwed up into a scowl. “Knew soon as Sam mentioned you’d been there, you were somehow wrapped up in this. Uniforms found her car parked outside the hotel this morning, even before we could find her husband to have a chat about his missin’ wife.”

“She hasn’t been gone long enough for him to report,” Jason murmured as he ran a hand over his jaw. “He probably doesn’t know.”

Her glance slid away. “Unless he’s the one who set her up,” she said, suddenly uncomfortable when all three men’s gazes rested on her. She shrugged. “We’re assuming something completely unnatural happened, when this could be a hubby who made a deal with a devil. He didn’t have to hire us to get rock-solid evidence his wife was stepping out on him. He had her Facebook hookup documented. Just sayin’…”

Leland waved his hand, silencing her. “Guess we’re in need of your specialized services, Cait.” He leaned over his desk, his steel-gray eyes pinning her. “Try not to get anyone killed or anything blown up this time.”

When he spun his chair to stare out the window, a clear indication the conversation was over, Cait pushed up from her seat. She gave Sam a searching glance. “We working this together?”

“Why would you have any doubts? Didn’t you hear?” He jabbed a thumb at his chest. “I’m the new full-moon guy.”

His voice was gravel-coarse. Anger bristled in the stiff set of his shoulders, but she held her comments until they were back in the corridor, away from homicide’s gossipy cops.

“I was going to tell you,” she mumbled. “But I got a little distracted last night.”

He cussed again and turned on his heel, heading to the elevator.

Not until all three of them were striding outside toward Sam’s unmarked sedan did she open her mouth. “I wasn’t keeping secrets. I would have told you everything—once I was sure Sylvia was dead and that what I saw was her ghost, not just… I don’t know… her taking a walk outside her body. The other ghosts I’ve seen aren’t holographs. They look just like you and me.”

“That even possible?” Jason asked. “Someone walking outside their body?”

Cait shrugged. “My mom claimed she could do astral projection. I never have. How the fuck would I know?”

Sam turned and leaned his butt against his car. “Cait, we are not going down the same path we did last time. I’ll share everything I learn. I expect the same professional courtesy from you.”

“Of course.” Only maybe she’d answered too quickly because both Sam and Jason gave her a look that said they seriously doubted she would. “What? I want to figure this out as badly as you guys do.”

Sam folded his arms over his chest and glared harder.

Jason reached out to touch her shoulder. “Problem is, Cait, when things get hinky you hold on to stuff. Sometimes a bit too long. I know you have issues with that other world you walk in, but you’ve left us swinging in the wind before. We need a little reassurance you won’t this time around.”

Cait huffed. “Fine. I’ll tell you every time I take a potty break too.” She chopped a hand through the air. “You guys ever think that maybe some of this stuff might not be pertinent?”

“Why should you be the one to decide what is and what isn’t pertinent, Cait?” Sam asked, his jaw tightening.

Her glance slid away as she remembered too many times she’d failed to read them in fully because she’d been afraid of sharing her past—and what she really was. “I’m not sure where to start,” she admitted.

Dropping his arms, Sam shook his head, exasperation darkening his expression. “How about with the frigging crime scene?”

Cop 101. He was right. She’d been quick to leap ahead to the woo-woo when they needed to put feet on the ground first. Relieved, too, that doing so meant she could delay facing Morin, she nodded. “Let’s have a look around. Maybe we’ll find something the crime scene techs overlooked.”

Twenty minutes later, they trailed into the hotel, past a tow truck uploading Sylvia’s car to transport it to the impound lot where techs would comb it for clues. While Jason stopped at the front desk to get a list of all the guests who’d had third-floor rooms the night before, Sam and Cait headed straight to room 323.

Cait did her best not to let him see her unease as they entered the short hallway. But this morning, the light switch was behaving. No sparks or smells of anything burning. No see-through spirit haunting the hallway.

Sam used the edge of the hotel room key to slice through the tape sealing the door and then unlocked it, pushing it open and standing to the side for her to enter.

The first sight that greeted her stopped her in her tracks. Sylvia’s oversized purse sat atop the dresser.

“That wasn’t here before,” Sam said quietly.

“It wouldn’t have been. It’s Sylvia’s. She didn’t become a victim until last night.”

Sam set his curled hands on his hips and gave her an even stare. “Do you see her now? Hear any whispers?”

She cocked her head. “No. And all’s quiet.” Freakishly so, but she wasn’t going to mention her unease.

Instead, she inspected the room. The bed was made up. Never slept in. A large section of drywall was missing next to the bathroom door, leaving a gaping hole where the workers had opened it, and then the techs had removed more panels to gather evidence.

Cait walked toward it and stuck her head into the opening. An eight-inch space was framed with wood slats, bits of insulation sticking to the seams. The area appeared empty. An odor teased her nose. Something other than the faint telltale scent of decaying corpse, something she recognized from her apprentice days. Frankincense? Made sense. She popped out her head. “Anything odd about the body when it was found?”

Sam frowned. “Her internal organs appeared to be gouged out. Her body was a dried husk. The ME will have more for us about cause of death.”

“No one ever reported smelling anything odd?”

“You’ll have to ask the manager. He said he’d be standing by for us to interview him.”

She nodded, then stuck her head into the hollowed-out wall again. Something glinted from between the slats farther down. Might have been nothing, but she stepped into the space and stretched out her arm.

A wisp of a breeze blew over her, a second before a whiff of something that smelled like rotten eggs nearly made her gag. She reached blindly for the thing stuck between the tight seam, felt a crisp edge, and squeezed her thumb and forefinger around it. Her grip tightened, ready to jerk it out quickly and get away from the bad feeling causing a ripple of fear to shiver down her spine.

A rustling, crackling sound came from deeper in the walls. Then she heard the thing that had been missing since she’d reentered the hotel.

Voices. Whispers of the dead. Some rasping and dry, some agitated and high-pitched. Still, she took heart, because she didn’t hear a single screech from a malevolent wraith. She gave the thin object a tug.

A blinding flash exploded. She felt a jolt like a Taser’s blast and knew what was happening but was unable to move. The shock blasted through her body, making her muscles grow rigid and her mind clear of everything except the pain.

Although he didn’t have an ounce of psychic ability, Sam knew something was wrong the moment he smelled sulfur and a second before lightning exploded from the opening and Cait began to convulse.

Not understanding anything but the need to pull her free, Sam leapt forward, grabbed a wad of her shirt, and jerked her out of the hole. They both fell backward, bouncing against the mattress, then dropping to the floor. Above them, a thin bolt of white-hot electricity shot toward the ceiling, the tail flickering out to touch the overhead lamp, then bending to snap and pop against the wooden dresser.

Not daring to take his gaze from her, Sam low-crawled to Cait, whose face was screwed up in an agonized grimace, and wrapped a hand around her upper arm. He dragged her toward the door, reached for the handle, flung it open, then pulled her through. When they were both clear, he glanced inside the room to see another strange arc flicker from the opening in the wall, popping, cracking, and darting as it seemed to search the room. He slammed the door shut.

In the hallway, he scooted to the far wall and pulled her against his chest. “Cait.”

Her arms crossed her chest. One closed fist slowly uncurled. Inside was a tattered driver’s license.

Her eyes eased open, and she stared at what she held. “We’ll need cadaver dogs, sonar, something…” she rasped, then slumped in his arms.

Every few seconds, it seemed, Cait opened her eyes to take stock of where she was. Held against Sam’s chest in the dingy hallway. In his arms still, as he carried her into the elevator. On a low-slung couch with lumpy springs in the foyer, staring up at the grimy ceiling.

When she roused, feeling more herself, she found an EMT shoving fluids in her veins.

“Don’t try to get up,” he said, offering her a small smile. “You’ve suffered a shock.”

She almost blurted duh, but withheld the urge. He was cute and seemed genuinely concerned as he taped the needle to her arm.

Jason peered over the attendant’s shoulder. “Like the new ’do.”

Alarmed, she reached up with her free hand to touch her hair, only to discover it was standing on end and felt kinky as hell. “What happened?” she asked, surprised when her voice sounded like a dry, crackling whisper.

Jason waggled his eyebrows. “Bad wiring?”

She grunted, squinting upward because the effort to keep her eyes open made her head hurt. “The license?”

“Sam’s running it through the system now. Had to pry him from you with a crowbar, but he’s over there,” he said, lifting his chin to point to someplace over the back of the sofa where she reclined.

Cait pushed up even as the EMT tried to push her back down. One glance at Sam’s tight, gray features and she slumped back, satisfied they’d both made it out of the room relatively unharmed.

“He’s getting word to Leland we may have more vics,” Jason continued, his voice dropping. “He’s mustering dogs and sonar equipment to search the place. The manager’s not happy about the thought of us tearing up more walls.”

Right that moment, Cait was grateful her team was taking over. Every muscle in her body ached. She worked her jaw side to side and winced. Good Lord, whatever was in the walls packed a wallop.

A hand touched her cheek, and she blinked open her eyes, not realizing she’d drifted off again.

Sam was leaning a hip on the back of the couch, his gaze studying her face. “We got a hit on that license. A stewardess who disappeared in the late eighties.”

Cait swallowed to wet her dry mouth. “So, this may have been going on a while. More reason to get those dogs in here.”

“You’ve got great instincts, Cait.” He gave her a lopsided smile, but then his face grew tight again. Emotion burned in his bitter gaze. “Jason says you had similar trouble here last night. Might have helped to know beforehand.”

Back to square one. Cait closed her eyes. Better to play sick girl than face another round of condemnation.

“Things have been moving pretty fast,” Jason said softly, a hint of warning in his voice.

“Two words,” Sam snapped. “‘Lightning bolts.’ Doesn’t take more than a second to get across the point there might be danger entering that room.”

“Sorry,” she croaked.

“What’s that?” Sam asked, cupping his ear as an eyebrow arched. “Not sure I heard you right. The Cait I know doesn’t like apologizing.”

Anger burned away the teary feelings, and she glared upward into his face.

His lips twitched.

Irritation ran along her spine. So he was playing her.

“You look better. Got a little color back in those pasty cheeks, O’Connell.”

An older man with thin, graying hair and thick black-rimmed glasses approached, wringing his hands. “Detectives, how long are you going to be here? The guests are getting nervous.”

“They should be, Mr. Lewis,” Sam bit out. “Might want to refund their money and send them elsewhere.”

“Sam.” Cait reached out her hand. She tugged his arm to bring him closer to hear her whisper. “We need folks to stay right where they are. We need to canvass. One of them might know something.”

“Think I’m a rookie? I wasn’t gonna let anyone go until they’d been questioned.”

“But I think they need to stay at the hotel even after they’re questioned. Just not anywhere near 323.”

“Fine.” He gave a crisp nod and his gaze narrowed. “I’ll get uniforms going room to room. Anything other than the usual you want them to ask?”

“I need to know whether they’ve ever detected odd smells and where. Also, have any been living or working here long? That’s all I can think of.” She pushed up again. “I need to go…”

Sam and the EMT pushed her back down. “We’ll handle it,” Sam said, his voice firm. “You’re going to the hospital to be checked out.”

“No time,” she croaked with a shake of her head.

“Cait, now’s not the time to get stubborn.” His eyes flashed. “You need a mirror. You look like hell.”

She pushed out her lower lip. “I’ll get a brush.”

Sam stood and fisted both his hands on his hips. “Do I have to sit on you in the ambulance to make sure you behave?”

Her face felt tight, but she managed to wrinkle her nose. “You’re not the boss of me.”

A glint of heat sparked in his eyes. “Sometimes, I am.”

She laughed, and then moaned, because the sharp action hurt her diaphragm enough to reconsider. “All right, but don’t leave me there long. I’ll need a ride to wherever we’re headed next.”

His eyebrows formed a single disapproving line. “If they release you, you’re going straight home.”

Rather than argue the point, she clamped her lips tight. And he expected full disclosure? Soon as her feet hit the floor at the hospital, she had an errand to run. If he didn’t want to accompany her, it was just his tough luck. This investigation had been blown wide open. Even though she’d seen plenty of strange shit, this one was beyond her level of expertise.

Too bad he was playing the heavy. She would have liked having his support when she sought out the one man who might shed some light on what they were facing.

But then again, maybe going alone was just as well. The last time she’d seen Morin, they’d both been naked and locked in an embrace. Something Sam hadn’t liked one little bit.

“Any more arguments?” This came from the EMT. His green eyes danced with humor.

Did this handsome wannabe doctor think he was going to play boss like Sam?

She gave him a withering glance, but maybe her face wasn’t working right because he didn’t even flinch.

Just great. All out of mean, and aching head to toe, she lay back and let herself be lifted onto a gurney, Sam watching all the while, his laser-blue eyes glinting with satisfaction.

She’d let him have his moment. Hell, she was too tired to fight. Her body ached, and her eyelids felt like they weighed a couple of pounds each. On the ride to the emergency room, she’d take a nap. Then all bets were off.

4

When next she opened her eyes, Cait stifled a sharp gasp.

An old woman with slate-gray hair and a wart on her nose stood over her bed, staring down.

Ignoring her for the moment, Cait gave her surroundings a quick glance. She was in a treatment room at Methodist University Hospital. A place she’d visited too often in the last few months not to be intimately familiar with. Same sterile walls and cabinets. Same hard foam mattress on a narrow cot. Same glaring fluorescent lights above. The astringent smell of rubbing alcohol was oddly reassuring.

A faint beeping sounded beside her, and she turned her head, still ignoring the woman standing beside her bed. The beeping must have had something to do with the wires running from the machine and attached to her chest with stickers. Were they running an EKG?

She glanced back at the old woman, whose rheumy brown eyes blinked in surprise but then quickly narrowed.

“You the ghost whisperer Gladys Digby was talkin’ about?”

Ghost whisperer? Digby? That name rang a bell. Cait’s senses sharpened, and she pushed up on her elbows to give the nosy woman a scowl. This time her expression succeeded because the other woman leaned away. Her shoulder passed through the IV stand.

Another question answered. “Is this Gladys five feet tall, with white hair, and pushing an oxygen cart? Dead as a doorknob?”

The old woman folded her thick arms over her substantial belly. She was dressed in a faded green hospital gown, no robe. Cait hoped she’d remembered to close the ties in the back.

“That’s her.” The grumpy woman nodded. “Haven’t seen her since she left with that blond cutie. She find her house?”

“I assume so. I’ve been a little too busy to go check. But my partner Jason drove her home.”

The woman’s scowl deepened. “I’m asking because her husband Frank’s here and I haven’t seen Gladys. Worried about the dingbat. She forgets things on account of the Alzheimer’s.”

“Frank’s here?” Well, damn. She’d thought she was done with the elderly dead woman she’d dubbed “Miss Daisy.” Eyeing the ghostly menace beside her, she asked, “There something you expect me to do about it?”

A curt nod expanded the woman’s double chin. “Find her. You’re a detective, ain’t ya?”

Cait wondered if she fluttered her eyelashes and pretended to faint whether the woman would leave her in peace. But the stubborn set of her jaw and hawkish glare told her that the ghost standing next to her hospital bed wouldn’t be fooled. Cait sighed. “What room is Frank in?”

“They have him in the ICU. Old fart’s not gonna make it. Gladys should be here.”

She remembered something Miss Daisy had told her about a pushy woman who guarded the most critical patients. “By chance, you wouldn’t be Mrs. Klein, would you?”

“That’s me. Been here thirty years now. Gladys mentioned me?”

The old woman’s widened eyes held a note of hope, and Cait’s irritation faded. Mrs. Klein missed her friend. “She did. She said you were an angel of mercy, ringing the bells when the comatose patients couldn’t do it for themselves.”

Mrs. Klein sniffed, and then shored up her expression, lifting her chin. “I’d like to hire you. To find her, that is.” When Cait raised an eyebrow, she continued. “Can’t pay you, of course, but I’ll owe you a favor. Someday, you might need one.”

The number of times she’d been in the emergency room these past months, Cait didn’t doubt her. “I’ll find Gladys. But I have something else I have to take care of first. Will you mind Frank in the meantime?”

“I’ve been hovering over the old goat, waitin’ for him to pass. If he does, I’ll make sure he stays planted.”

Cait flipped off the blanket covering her legs, then, at the cool breeze on her skin, quickly pulled it back over her. They’d taken her pants. Shit.

“Your clothes are in the third cupboard,” Mrs. Klein said, pointing.

Cait pulled the stickers off her chest and then sat on the edge of her bed, keeping the white sheet covering her hips and thighs while she removed the IV from her arm. At the sting, she winced and sucked in a breath.

Mrs. Klein chuckled. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“You try getting electrocuted. Everything hurts.” And her body did. All her muscles felt stiff and achy. Her head throbbed. She pushed off the bed and hobbled to the cupboard, relieved to find her clothing neatly folded in a clear plastic bag. She dressed quickly, and then went to the treatment room door, which she pushed open a crack.

“Coast is clear,” Mrs. Klein barked in her ear.

“Shhh!” Cait turned her head, shooting her a glare.

“Like anyone’s gonna hear me? And why should you care if they see you? You’re perfectly within your rights to leave.”

“Have to check no one’s here to make sure I stay put,” she muttered.

But the hallway was indeed empty of people. She slid out the door and made her way to the exit doors. Just as she pressed on the round automatic door button, she heard someone tsk behind her.

She angled her head to look behind her and saw the EMT who’d been at the hotel standing there. The exit doors closed again with a hiss.

“Something tells me you didn’t bother waiting for a doctor to give you the all clear.”

“What’s it to you?” she snarled grumpily. “Gonna narc on me?”

His green gaze swept her frame. “Don’t think it’s me you have to worry about. Your detective friend looked pretty mean.”

Cait rolled her eyes. “Don’t suppose you’re on your way out of here?”

“I am. Whatcha need?”

“Can you drop me off somewhere?”

“Only if it’s on my route.”

“Anywhere but here would suit me just fine.”

“Figured that.” He grinned and reached past her to hit the button again to open the door. “After you?”

She glanced at his brass nameplate. “Thanks, Bradley.”

“First name’s Eddie. Have a feeling we’re gonna be on a first-name basis,” he murmured, still smiling.

She followed him to his truck and climbed into the cab. “Anywhere near a trolley stand will be fine.”

He started the engine. “No one said, back at the hotel, but how’d you manage to get yourself electrocuted?”

Cait smiled. “A demon living in the walls of the hotel hit me.”

“Uh-huh. I can see why he wanted to sit on you all the way to the hospital. He your boyfriend?”

One look, and she knew he was angling to find out if she was available. Which had her reaching for her hair. It was still poofed out like she’d stuck a finger in a light socket. “You always this flirty?”

“Only when the girl’s a spitfire.”

She laughed and turned to watch the streets they passed.

When she neared the trolley stop on Union, she tapped the dashboard. “You can drop me here.”

“Got cash for the trolley?”

Her brows lowered, and she felt in her pockets. Her wallet was gone. So were her keys.

“Boyfriend took them. I think maybe he was trying to make sure you stayed put.” Eddie fished into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed her a five. “Now you owe me. Meet me for drinks sometime?”

Cait sucked in a deep breath. Rather than the setdown the situation called for, she found herself saying, “I like O’Malley’s. If I see you there sometime, I’ll buy you a drink.”

He gave her a lopsided smile as she scooted off the seat to the pavement.

As his vehicle pulled away, she wondered what the hell she’d just done. Last thing she needed was an excuse to drink. But maybe that was the point. She wasn’t ready to quit. Although she’d been sober for almost two months, she wasn’t past wanting a drink. The smell of rubbing alcohol assailed her again, and she ran a hand over the skin exposed above the edge of her tank. The smell intensified.

Maybe when this case was over, she’d treat herself. One last swig of her favorite scotch. Eddie wouldn’t rag on her about it.

But the image of Sam’s stern expression shimmered into her mind. The thought of disappointing him again, of giving him a good reason not to trust her, caused a welling up of guilt that ate at her stomach.

She needed something to eat. That was all this burning was.

Sam closed his phone and cussed. Cait had escaped the hospital. Not that he was truly surprised, but they were supposed to be working this case together. He had every right to keep tabs on where she was and what she was doing. He’d have to sign off on her time sheet.

Or at least that was the excuse he made to himself for his irritation. She’d been buzzed, knocked right on her ass. Her instinct might have her running to a bar for a stiff scotch—for medicinal purposes, he was sure.

“Don’t tell me. Cait disappear?”

Sam aimed a glare at Jason, who sat beside him at the long scarred metal table in the break room where they’d been interviewing a steady stream of hotel guests. So far, they hadn’t come across anyone who’d seen or smelled anything. He tapped the last names on the list Mr. Lewis, the hotel manager, had given him. The Reel PIs crew.

This ought to be good.

“Hey, if you want to go find her, I can handle this.”

Feeling edgy, Sam almost agreed. But he decided he’d see this through, then go hunt her down. He’d give her just enough rope. Someday he’d have to learn to trust her again or they’d never work as a couple. Sam didn’t dare let his imagination roam any further than that. Memories of their marriage, of their constant fighting about her drinking and the secrets she kept, had left him feeling pretty hollow for a long, long time. Being back in her life now, he was satisfied taking their relationship slow.

Add the fact he’d discovered things that she’d never even hinted at—the magical other world she traveled—and he wasn’t sure they were still a good fit. How could he hope to compete with or even understand the things she was capable of doing? And then there was Morin.

Morin Montague. Her teacher. Her first lover. Although Cait swore up and down that the night she’d gone to Morin to draw down the moon had been all about siphoning off the sorcerer’s power to battle a demon, she hadn’t hedged about the fact that siphoning called for the two of them to get naked and for Morin to draw an orgasm from her.

That was Sam’s sticking point. The magic, he might be able to handle. The fact she had to take things a step beyond what he considered staying faithful… well, he was still working on where that left him.

Confused? Hurt? Neither emotion was something he wanted to let her know about. Angry? Well, she’d seen hints of that. He supposed he’d just need time to work on his trust issues. Time and education. Google was key to the things he’d dredged up about mystical practices that he’d once considered pure fantasy.

“Want to talk to them together?”

Sam roused, giving Jason another glance.

Jason’s eyebrows were raised as he studied Sam’s expression.

Not knowing what his face might have revealed, Sam pasted on a frown. “Together would be fine. Let’s just get it over with.” He flipped to the next clean sheet in his small spiral pad and clicked the ballpoint pen he’d swiped from Cait’s kitchen.

Jason pushed away from the table and walked to the door. With a curl of his fingers, he gestured to the threesome sitting on folding chairs in the hallway outside.

As they shuffled into the room, Sam studied the crew. Before his introduction to the paranormal world, he would have dismissed them as slightly out-there pretenders at best, con artists at worst.

He glanced down at his printed list. “So who’s Clayton Dempsey?”

The chubby dude with the Fu Manchu lifted his hand. Then he turned to the tall man beside him whose face bore acne pockmarks and a scraggly beard. “This is Booger Dane, and she’s his girlfriend, Mina Tattersall. Our producer.”

“Producer?” Sam studied the girl, barely twenty. She was slender and small with black hair cut to her chin and purple cat’s-eye glasses.

“I handle the camera work too,” she said, her husky voice at odds with her pint-size appearance.

“You have a TV show?”

Clayton waved a hand. “We’re in the development stages of doing a show. Reality-TV stuff. Real ghost hunters.”

“And you’ve found ghosts?”

Clayton gave him a look that said he thought Sam wasn’t his intellectual equal. “We have reels of orb sightings. And tapes we’re still going through to clean out the white noise.”

So, not-so-real ghost hunters. Sam smiled. “Why are you at the Deluxe?”

Clayton leaned an elbow on the table and eased to the side. “A Facebook fan of ours turned us on to the hotel. Said he stayed here once and heard all kinds of unexplainable things. Noises in the walls. Odd smells.”

Although his interest piqued, Sam didn’t betray a tic. “Noises? Smells? Did he describe them?”

The large man pulled a notebook from his pocket and flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for, and then he tapped the sheet. “He was on the third floor. Said the sounds were like something moving in the walls. Not thumps. Rustling. And he smelled sulfur.” Clayton raised his head and gave Sam a smirking smile. “A sure sign of demons.”

The scraggly bearded man nodded. “We were wondering if we could interview you.”

“About what?” Sam said, keeping his voice flat.

“About what happened up there. We think that space is a point of confluence.”

“A point of confluence?” Sam drawled.

“An intersection between this world and the next.”

“And what leads you to believe that?”

Booger Dane blinked. “The dead girl in the walls. The night clerk says the cops told him she was there for forty years, but then they asked to see his records of a woman who’d checked in last night. Said it was her body they found.” He nodded. “See, time has no meaning in the other realm.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam stifled a sigh, silently cursing the clerk for his big mouth.

“We think we could be helpful to your investigation,” Booger said, excitement tweaking his voice to a slightly higher pitch.

Sam ignored the nudge Jason gave him below the table. Judging by the careful crimping of his lips, Cait’s partner was having a hard time holding in a smile. “How so?” Sam asked, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

“We have all the equipment. We could monitor the paranormal activity and find the point of conflux.”

Sam shook his head. “I think we can handle the investigation all on our own.”

“Forgive me for sounding a little condescending,” Clayton said, with a slight sneer, “but you need us. You need someone with experience who can navigate these waters. Messin’ with the dead is dangerous. More so with dark entities. Booger here is a qualified exorcist. Once we trap that demon, he can banish it from the hotel.”

Sam flipped his notepad closed and forced a smile. “I’ll take your offer under advisement.”

Clayton’s expression slipped to reveal a hint of anger tingeing his cheeks. “We’ve booked rooms for the next week. Here’s my card.”

Sam took the card, eyeing it doubtfully. A Casper-like ghost was to one side, a large magnifying glass to the right. Both looked as though they’d been hand sketched, most likely by Clayton himself. Sam slipped the card into his shirt pocket.

Jason cleared his throat. “Thanks for your time. Sorry about the wait.”

Booger shrugged congenially, looking like he hadn’t noticed his friend was pissed. “We don’t have anything else to do until it gets dark. We’ve been reviewing footage.”

“See anything we might find interesting?” Jason asked.

“Not yet. We’ll have to enhance the images.”

“Uh-huh.” This time, Sam didn’t disguise a snort.

Clayton’s brows lowered. “I know we sound kinda out there, but this stuff is real. So are we.”

Sam’s glance cut straight to Clayton. “Just make sure you stay clear of the third floor. The entire floor’s a crime scene now.”

After a two-second stare-down, Clayton offered a tight smile and stood. The others quickly followed.

Mina shoved her glasses up her nose and offered her hand. “If we find anything interesting, we’ll let you know.”

“If we find anything,” Clayton interjected, “we expect quid pro quo. And if you change your minds about doing an interview for this episode…”

“I’ll let you know,” Sam said, then stared pointedly toward the door.

When they trailed out of the room, Sam looked at Jason, whose lips were pressed into a straight line. “You think they have a clue?”

No way. “I think they know enough to get in the way.”

“My thoughts too.”

“Still, photographic surveillance isn’t a bad idea.” Jason shrugged.

Sam let out a deep breath. “You think following orbs around might lead us to something?”

Jason grunted. “Most orbs are just dust particles blown up with the flash of a camera. But you never know. They might get lucky. If we can find that conflux—”

Sam let loose a chuckle. “The only thing they might find is trouble. Especially if they get in Cait’s way.”

“Yeah, what do we need with them when we have our own ghost girl?” Jason dismissed the group with a wave. “Speaking of which, any ideas where to start looking for her?”

“Yeah, one or two,” Sam said, grinding his jaws.

“I’ll head to the office to dig up what I can on the Internet about strange happenings and disappearances surrounding the hotel.”

Sam gave him a nod. “Regroup at O’Malley’s tonight?”

“Sure it’s safe for her to be there?”

Hoping the place was about the habit and not the substance, Sam lifted his shoulders. “Later.”

5

“Spirits who aided this seeker of past

Lead me to Morin by crows’ winged path.

If you should honor and grant my request—

I’ll follow your lead north, south, east, or west…”

Cait flung the ingredients she cupped inside her hands into the air, and then squatted on the pavement, waiting for the spell to take effect. But the world continued to move forward. Pedestrians strode briskly down the sidewalk. The sky above her remained a brilliant blue. No crows burst from a dark mixture to lead her to her destination. Grit blew into her eyes.

She rose and glanced over her shoulder at Celeste, who stood in front of her shop with her arms held akimbo, tsking her disapproval. “Is it because he mixed the last batch?”

Celeste pointed above her head. “Sign don’ say ‘WITCH INSIDE.’ How’m I s’posed ta know?” When Cait continued to glare, she lifted her shoulders. “Da locator spell didn’ work ’cause you only seek help when you in dire straits. When it’s convenient for you to forget how much you resent your powers.”

“Tante…” Okay, so that sounded a little like whining, even to her ears. What was she, ten? “I don’t have time for this not to work. Lives may be at stake.”

Lowering her voice, Celeste bent at the waist to lean closer. “You don’ get nekkid wit’ a sorcerer, drain him of power, den go on your merry way like he didn’ give you somet’in’ precious.”

Cait’s fists clenched. “Is this his fault? Is he punishing me?”

“Morin’s not recovered his full strength. Some of what you took he’ll never get back. His gift ta you for your battle against dat monster was given freely. But Da Powers Dat Be,” she said, pointing her finger upward, “dey watch, gal. You made a bargain you have yet ta keep.”

A bargain? Her feet shifted. She remembered asking for intervention from the Goddess and the swift influx of power she’d received that had allowed her to demolish the wraith whistling through Celeste’s shop. “I wasn’t ignoring them. I just needed time to recoup.”

“You been practicin’ any spells? Givin’ offerings?”

Cait scowled. “We don’t sacrifice goats anymore.”

“But you s’pposed ta pray,” Celeste whispered harshly. “Ta give t’anks for your gifts, ma petite.” Celeste shook her head. “You’re ungrateful. Dat what dey see.”

“But I’m not—” Cait clamped her lips shut before she told another lie. The last thing she felt was gratitude. Most of the time, she wished she’d been born into a normal family, not descended from a long line of practicing witches. Her shoulders drooped. “What am I supposed to do? I have questions only he can answer.”

“Perhaps a cleansin’ of your spirit…”

I’ve already showered, she almost quipped but thought better of being flippant. Ingratitude and bad manners had gotten her into this mess. “I know a ritual. All I need is a smudge stick.”

Celeste shook her head, again. Her dark eyes hardened. “Always lookin’ for a quick fix.”

Cait blew out an exasperated breath. “Sprinkle me with peppermint tea?”

“Dat be no ritual,” Celeste said, disapproval stiffening her shoulders.

Cait threw back her head and closed her eyes. “All right. Take me to the circle.” When she glanced toward Celeste, she spotted her curvy figure halfway through the door of her tiny store.

“Hurry it up, gal,” she threw over her shoulder. “Time’s a-wastin’.”

“Finally, she gets it,” Cait muttered as she released her fists.

“I heard dat.”

Cait almost smiled. Celeste appeared fully recovered from her injuries following the wraith attack. Today, she was dressed as always in a long, red-and-gold print caftan that rippled around her pretty form. Cait followed her through her shop, past the shelves crammed with new-age and voodoo kitsch, past her counter with its display of crystals and wands.

Behind the counter, Celeste brushed aside strands of purple beads, entering the “reading room” where she read palms and tarot cards for paying customers.

A black cloth decorated with large pink cabbage roses covered the table. Celeste’s clear crystal ball sat in the center. Cait looked around quickly for the box that held her mother’s rose quartz ball but didn’t see it. Not that she had any intentions of using it herself. Not now. Maybe never again.

Celeste pulled back the chairs and gripped one side of the round table.

Cait grabbed the opposite side, and together they moved the table against one wall, exposing a circle painted in black on the planked floor. A crude pentagram sat at its center, dark oily stains inside each point.

“Begin takin’ off your clothes,” Celeste said as she strode to her cupboard.

“What if you get a customer?” Cait looked over her shoulder.

“I hear da bell. You hide. No more excuses.”

Cait opened her belt and unzipped her jeans. “Why does magic always require someone gettin’ naked?”

“Not always. Sometimes, da spirits like a little pomp. Den you wear a witch’s robes. But right now, gal, you have ta humble yourself.”

“I’m plenty humble.”

“You’re plenty mouthy. Strip! You da one wit’ da favor ta ask.”

Cait stripped off her tank top, toed off her boots, and shoved her pants down her legs.

Celeste gave her body a look, her gaze pointedly lingering on her bra and panties. “Ain’t got not’ing I ain’t seen before. Or dat Morin ain’t touched.”

With her cheeks burning, Cait removed her underwear, shivering a little in the air wafting from a small fan set atop the psychic’s counter.

“Stand in da circle.”

“Which way’s north?”

Celeste pointed, and Cait aligned her body to face that direction.

Celeste gathered short black candles from a shelf and placed one in each point of the pentagram. Then she placed the other items Cait would need in the north corner. She handed Cait a handmade broom made from the stiff silk of broomcorn and stepped back into a shadowy corner.

Remembering another time she’d prepared a magic circle with her mama while standing in their kitchen along with a child’s spell she’d written, Cait held the broom.

“Sweep, sweep,” she whispered, brushing from the center of the circle.

“Sweep away the dark. Brush away the bad.

With whisk and wish, I command thee.”

Under her breath, she repeated the incantation to cleanse the circle of any negativity, whether thoughts or spirits. As she worked, she felt her irritation calm.

When she’d finished brushing away imaginary cosmic dirt, she held out her hand for Celeste’s offering of a cone of incense, a small brass dish, and a lighter.

Cait lit the incense and blew on the tip until smoke wafted in the air. Then she walked clockwise around the edge of the circle, fanning the smoke, this time reciting her mother’s much more eloquent spell.

“In this circle, safely unbroken,

Hear my words, truly spoken.

With cleansing smoke and truest heart

Remnants of evil, I bid thee part.”

As she moved, the sweet smoke swept away the remnants of the scents of death and sulfur that clung to her skin, even the faint hint of burning hair that had filled her nostrils since she’d been buzzed.

After three turns and three recitations, Cait set the incense in the southeast point of the pentagram, and then accepted a bowl of water with sea-salt grains settled at the bottom.

Cait swirled her fingers in the water to help the salt crystals dissolve, and then faced the opposite direction. Holding the bowl in front of her she circled, her movements growing more fluid as she went.

“In this circle, safely unbroken,

Hear my words, truly spoken.

Waters open this mystic gate;

Worlds collided, entwined fate.”

After placing the bowl in the eastern point, she picked up a silver salt shaker. As she circumnavigated the pentagram, she sprinkled grains onto the floor.

“In this circle, safely unbroken,

Hear my words, truly spoken.

I call the elements, this circle bound;

Secure my path, while truth is found.”

With all the Elements called into play, save Spirit, Cait prepared to give them their due. Drawing in deep breaths, she cleared her mind, seeking the quiet place inside, the place where she connected with the spirits. Then she carefully erected a wall in her imagination, enclosing the circle with strands of spider’s silk until she stood inside a floor-to-ceiling web, noting only dimly when the black candles laid at every point lit themselves, one by one.

With a chirp from his siren, Sam pulled the unmarked sedan into a parking space in front of Celeste’s new-age shop.

The garish neon sign announcing PSYCHIC INSIDE had been repaired and the large glass window replaced. The last time he’d stood on the sidewalk looking in, a tornado of flying debris had circled inside like a cyclone. At the center had stood Cait, facing a wispy wraith that had trashed the shop and flapped Celeste against the ceiling as though she weighed nothing.

Ghostly wraiths didn’t appear to be their problem this time around. Still, he felt trepidation entering the shop. He’d never admit it, but he felt magic in the air every time he entered. A feeling that reminded him all too clearly of the part of Cait’s life he’d never truly understand or share.

He pushed open the door, only to have to duck suddenly.

Celeste stood to the side, holding up a long stick, the point thrust inside the bell above the door, muffling the chime while he closed it.

Lowering the stick, she pressed a finger to her lips and then motioned him to follow her back to the room where she did her readings. At the opening in the counter, she turned. “You may stand at da door and watch,” she whispered, “but you may not interfere.”

Sam nodded, then slipped past her, quietly parting the beads. The sight greeting him made his breath catch in his throat.

Cait stood at the center of a web-like curtain, candles flaring high and warm golden light playing against her naked skin.

His gaze flew back to Celeste, but she was gone.

Sounds, like chanting but more musical, drew his gaze again. They came from inside the circle where Cait stood swaying. Her eyes were closed. Droplets of water glistened on her skin. A breeze lifted her thick dark hair to send the tendrils dancing around her head. Flames from black candles surrounding her feet blazed, the tips flickering, painting her skin with shadow and light, moving upward like the strokes of a fiery paintbrush to skim her belly, the tips of her hardened breasts, and then her face. She turned slowly, her lips moving with words impossible to hear. Her eyelids drifted upward, and her gaze found him.

For a moment she held still, a swallow working the muscles of her neck, an embarrassed tinge brightening the flickering flame dancing on her skin.

From one moment to the next, he blinked and the image was gone.

Cait stood alone with smoke wafting from doused candles, the sickly sweet scent of incense in the air. She raised her arms to cover herself, then dropped them, perhaps realizing it was a little too late.

“What’s going on, Cait?” he asked softly, still entranced by the vision that had dimmed and aroused as never before. His fingers itched to touch her skin and see whether it was hot.

“A little begging, on my part.”

“To whom?” he murmured, although inside he was intensely jealous her pleas weren’t addressed to him right now.

She lifted her hands but then dropped them again, maybe growing nervous at being found standing nude and alone. “The Powers That Be.”

To ease the thickness of his tongue, Sam swallowed hard. “You know ’em?” he asked, his words coming out nearly garbled.

“Not personally. I have to take some things on faith.”

Uncomfortable with yet another reminder of all the things he didn’t quite understand about her, he shrugged off the comment and headed back into familiar territory. “You were supposed to wait for me at the hospital. In case you didn’t realize it, the doctors never officially released you.”

“I felt better after they got fluids in me. No damage, see?” she said, giving a little self-conscious twirl. “Good as new.”

Her hair was still poofy, but he didn’t mention it. If she wanted to pretend everything was back to normal, he’d let her have her fantasy moment. From here on out, he’d watch her like a hawk. His body stiffened. Nothing was going to happen to her on his watch. Not again. “Do you know what we’re facing?”

“Not yet.”

“Let me guess.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “You need to see a guy about a book.”

She wrinkled her nose and looked around, stepping quickly to her pile of clothing and beginning to dress. “I tried a location spell, but it didn’t work. So I had to cleanse my aura.”

“Will the spell work now?”

“Guess we’ll see. Ready to chase some birds?”

As the streets grew still and the sky darkened in an instant, Sam couldn’t deny a little thrill of wonder. Running behind Cait as she chased her murder of crows, he could see how magic could be every bit as addictive as scotch to someone like her.

She’d tossed the dried herbs into the air and then crouched while a mini-whirlwind caught the grit, funneling it tightly before it exploded into a swarm of birds. He’d watched her face, the almost childlike delight she took in seeing her spell work.

Chasing her through alleys, they wound their way to Beale Street toward a small alcove café where diners sat frozen with their forks held in midair, where a street musician’s pick clanged against guitar strings and the sound stretched eerily.

The red door with the shiny brass knob—a door that didn’t belong there—appeared once the crows bunched together before sweeping upward to disappear into the dark sky.

Cait reached out, twisted the knob, and then entered the dimly lit bookstore. Like a place out of time, gaslights flickered from old-fashioned wall sconces. Candles sat on tables awaiting a match.

Out of habit, because he could never quite believe it, he glanced over his shoulder at the large plate-glass window that looked out on the café alcove. A window where a brick wall should have been. He glanced to his right, noting a long marble counter he hadn’t paid attention to before. Behind the counter was a cabinet with small wooden cubbies, each with purple glass knobs glinting in the pale sunlight.

Footsteps scraped from the raised dais straight ahead, and he faced forward again, girding himself against Morin’s appearance.

The other man’s tall, dark figure appeared from around the corner of one of the bookshelves. In the golden lamp glow, Morin’s expression was wary as his gaze met Sam’s across the distance.

Morin was right to be hesitant. Every fiber of Sam’s body was taut. His fists curled at his sides. All it would take would be one risqué remark, and he’d let loose his fury at the man who’d taken Cait’s innocence and then continued to play with her, hoping she’d be the one to unlock him from his self-imposed prison.

Morin was the one who had made the demon that had nearly killed Cait. All because he’d desired a girl who’d wanted nothing to do with him. He’d knowingly unleashed evil and then pretended regret, trying to pluck at Cait’s heartstrings to feel sorry for him in his self-imposed exile.

Only she wasn’t seventeen anymore, and she wasn’t innocent. She’d lived in the intervening years with her personal curse.

Morin wet his lips and then offered Cait a tentative smile. “I’m so glad to see you looking well,” he said in a low tone.

A soothing voice Sam was sure would charm snakes.

Cait wasn’t as immune to his charms as she liked to believe.

She touched her hair. “Don’t flatter me. I need something. It’s the only reason I’m here.”

“I assumed as much. A cup of tea?”

Cait hesitated. “And a bite to eat? I’m starved.”

Morin nodded, and then turned to lead the way toward the small kitchen beyond his library.

Sam snagged Cait’s wrist, holding her back but not knowing exactly what to say.

She gave him a sideways glance. “I’m okay,” she whispered. But when he released her wrist, she tucked her hand inside his. “Don’t worry, Sam. I won’t ever trust him again. Not like I do you.”

Sam felt the tension inside him ease a fraction. He was right to fear Morin’s influence, but the man didn’t hold her in thrall. Cait was all grown up. If the things he’d seen her do were any indication, her powers might one day outstrip her mentor’s.

For now, she needed him, wanted him. He’d hold that knowledge close to his chest and hope that Cait’s determination to keep her feelings for Morin unentangled from her past wouldn’t falter. His thumb rubbed along her pulse. If ever her determination weakened, Sam would have her back.

6

Cait took comfort in Sam’s presence beside her as she took a seat at the small round breakfast table in Morin’s kitchen. Perhaps done with playing games with Sam, Morin had mustered up a third chair rather than offering Sam one of his tall workbench stools as he had in the past, leaving him hovering from a distance. A deliberate attempt to leave him physically outside the conversation. Not that Sam seemed any more comfortable now as he angled his long legs beneath the table.

Cait cleared her throat and turned to Morin, whose face was clear of expression. Carefully neutral.

Did he know she’d told Sam everything about her last visit? Was he actually playing it safe rather than tweaking Sam to get a rise out of him? She hoped so. She didn’t need both men posturing while the room reeked of testosterone.

Morin sat still while she studied his familiar, masculine features: his black, shoulder-length hair, straight nose, and full lips. Although Morin was still every bit as handsome and alluring as ever with his unique brand of smoldering sensuality, she wasn’t seventeen anymore. He’d used her attraction then and had tried to draw her into his world again when she’d been forced to seek his advice with the last case. Yes, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever met, but she’d never trust him. And trust, she’d discovered, was something she couldn’t survive without.

Morin moved around the counter, choosing a plain earthen teapot, which he rinsed with a dash of boiling water from the kettle sitting atop the old-fashioned gas stove. Then his hand hovered over a row of painted tins until he selected the desired blend of tea.

She watched, knowing he was up to something, but with his back to her, she couldn’t see what else he might be adding to the brew.

Shifting in her chair, she cleared her throat. “We have another problem.”

“You do seem to attract exciting sorts of problems, Caitlyn,” Morin murmured, still turned away and swishing the teapot.

Sam stirred, muttering under his breath.

His impatience was evident in the curling of his hand on the tabletop.

She cupped her hand over his fist and gave him a single shake of her head, telling him silently to behave. They were here because they needed help. Maybe she shouldn’t have accepted the tea, allowing Morin to extend her visit. But they weren’t wasting time. Not really. While inside Morin’s domain, time outside the shop stood still. Part of her understood her old mentor’s need to prolong their stay. He was lonely and bored. No one but those he invited—and who had the magical skills to find him—ever came. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for him, day after day, locked inside this prison he’d created for himself as penance for one tragic mistake in his past.

Morin returned to the table with cups he set in front of her and Sam. Despite the fact he knew Sam wasn’t fond of tea, he poured him a cup, his focused stare daring her ex to complain. At Sam’s grudging nod of thanks, Morin’s mouth twisted, as though disappointed he hadn’t gotten the reaction he wanted.

Cait’s lips twitched, and she raised her cup to hide a smile. A couple of small yellow blossoms floated in her tea, and her gaze whipped to Morin’s. “Tormentil flowers?” What was it about the herb? She couldn’t quite remember.

“Sam’s tea is pure oolong,” Morin murmured. “In yours, I added powdered tormentil root. Take a sip. I also added chamomile to flavor it.”

Still hesitating to drink, she asked, “And I need tormentil root why?”

Morin shook his head. “Such a terrible student,” he chided cheerfully. “It’s a protection spell. Keep in mind I didn’t have to tell you. Your palate isn’t very discerning. The blossoms are only decorative. They were a clue I left for you, my little detective. Didn’t want to sneak anything into yours without your knowledge.” One dark brow rose, and his gaze held hers for a moment. “I’ve adopted a policy of full disclosure when it comes to you.”

Sam sputtered and put down his cup with a thump.

Ignoring his sideways glare, Cait narrowed hers on Morin, wondering how he could have known she and Sam had argued about that very same topic.

Playing innocent, Morin raised his cup and sipped.

“It’s more than a protection spell,” she said with a stony stare.

“Ah, maybe you do remember something. When you enter the land of the dead, whether a graveyard or the mystical place, you need a protective shield. Do you want to be a lightning rod again?” At her glower, he tapped the rim of her cup. “Drink down the tea like a good girl, then hold out your hand.”

Sam cussed under his breath.

Cait blew on her tea, then drank it as quickly as she could. Setting aside her cup, she reached across the table.

The moment his hand enclosed hers, she felt a spark of power, a warm tingle that traveled up her arm and spread like a brushfire.

“Close your eyes.”

Just as she had all those years ago when she’d practiced her magic with him in this very room, she obeyed instantly. Another flash of warmth enveloped her, this one more like a soothing wave, traveling through her arm, prickling her skin, sinking deep within her feminine soul.

“Not fair,” she muttered, not wanting to be more forceful about his psychic flirting because Sam was sitting right beside her.

“Imagine yourself inside that dreary hotel,” he said, a hint of amusement in his melodic voice.

Sam cursed again. “How does he know about the hotel?”

Cait shook her head to quiet him while filling her mind with the images: the shabby foyer, the yellowed walls and puke-colored carpets, the room with a gaping hole in the wall.

“Now…” Morin said, his voice softening, deepening, drawing her in.

“Elementals, hear me, your humbled servant.

Bless this wanderer, this stubborn novice—”

Cait peeked open one eye to give Morin a stealthy glare.

He winked and raised a forefinger, and then indicated downward for her to close her eye again. Which she did, but not without letting him see she didn’t approve of his humor.

“I invoke your many blessings

To hold quiet dark spirits rising.

Let root and water insulate and shield,

While powers mingle and knowing builds.

I invoke your many blessings.

To hold quiet dark spirits rising.

So mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” she repeated, then slowly opened her eyes.

His features appeared a little haggard, as if somehow he’d aged. Then she blinked, only to find the old Morin, eyes glinting with devilish humor peering back.

“That should do it, darling.” His hand withdrew. The warmth receded like an ebbing tide.

She swallowed and met his dark, intense gaze and felt a weakening of her guard. She almost blurted that she’d missed him. Maybe the sentiment was something else he’d stirred into her tea.

Determined to shake off the feeling, she straightened in her chair. “How do you know about the hotel? You aren’t psychic. Was Celeste just here?”

“Since I don’t have any sense of time passing, I can only say she has been here twice since last I saw you. But no, she didn’t tell me about the hotel.”

“Then how?”

“She brought me something for safekeeping.” His gaze slid away to land on the workbench behind her.

Turning in her chair, she spied a crystal ball, its rosy hues unmistakable. “My mother’s ball? Celeste gave that to you?”

Morin gave her one of his glib smiles. “It’s not mine. Or even Lorene’s anymore. You charged it last. I simply used its connection to see what you’ve been doing.”

“You’ve been spying on me?” Disbelief had her voice rising.

Morin shrugged nonchalantly while his gaze honed. “I wouldn’t call it that. Just keeping abreast. To ensure your safety, my dear.”

“And just what have you seen?” She gasped and pressed against her chest. Good Lord, her mind went straight to the intimate parts of her life.

“I’ve watched you studying your mother’s book. I’m pleased you’re resuming your studies.”

“I’m not—” she started to lie, then had another thought. “What else have you seen?”

“I know that your husband—”

“Ex-husband—”

“Doesn’t trust you. He can’t resist you, but he doesn’t trust you.”

A low growl sounded beside her, and she slipped a hand to the bunched muscles of Sam’s thigh to warn him not to react. She’d take care of this. “This is outrageous. Even for you, Morin.”

He pulled back as though struck, and she felt a moment’s remorse. But hey, he’d probably been watching her and Sam make love, something Sam was going to figure out pretty damn quick.

Anger boiled up inside. However, Cait had always been honest with herself. Anger wasn’t the only thing she felt. Arousal wound deep inside at the thought of what this decadent man might have seen. Heat flushed her cheeks and tightened her nipples. Reactions Morin noted, no doubt, given his steady stare.

His pupils dilated. “But you aren’t here to fight.”

I’m also not here to make love, she almost countered. His voice was that seductive rumble that never failed to skitter deliciously along her spine, making her excruciatingly aware of every little change in her body as her desire rose.

These feelings were a betrayal. Maybe not overt, but she loved Sam, and she didn’t like that this twisted, handsome creature could so easily make her forget that. Taking a deep, calming breath, she said, “You’re right. We’re not on point. I have a problem. One you might be able to help me figure out.”

“Tell me everything.” His hand reached out and cupped the back of hers, but she slowly dragged it from beneath his and placed it on her lap.

Morin’s mouth firmed. His expression grew more guarded, but he nodded, conceding the battle.

As Cait began relating all that had happened, from the night of Sylvia Reyes’s disappearance to the moment she’d been zapped at the crime scene, Morin remained silent, his expression elusive.

When she finished, she sat, waiting for a long moment while he studied her.

Morin shifted in his chair, and his gaze lit on Sam. “Be at ease. That spell should help the electrical charge find ground without harming her again.”

Sam nodded as though he believed him. And maybe he did. Sam took a lot on faith these days, especially regarding things that weren’t exactly by the book.

“I haven’t spied on your intimate life, at least not purposely.” Sam’s gaze hardened, but Morin moved back to her. “This is a classic haunting.”

“Ghosts? Wraiths? I’ve only seen the one spirit, Sylvia’s, and certainly no wispy, freezing winds.”

“Not a ghostly haunting. This is strictly demonic. Somewhere among the guests, there is a demon who has attached himself to the premises. The walls are his skin, the beams his bones. When he consumes a human victim, he takes them inside himself, into the walls to feed.”

Her lips curled in disgust. “Ew.”

“You were lucky Sam was there. If you’d been alone, you might well have been pulled inside and devoured.”

Cait shivered. Another thought niggled. “How is he taking them back in time to deposit them?”

Morin’s shoulder lifted. “Bending time, stopping time—that’s not so difficult, Caitlyn. You’re asking the wrong question.” His gaze narrowed. “Why is he taking them back?”

“Do you know?”

“Perhaps he does because it’s easier to hide his victims. Law enforcement wasn’t as sophisticated or connected in those days. Or perhaps he’s sentimental.”

“Do you think he first attached himself to that house all those years ago?”

His expression approving, he nodded. “Perhaps.”

“Should I be looking for someone older, then?”

“He’s a demon. And if he’s been feeding on human life-force, he might not age. So, no, don’t narrow your search to an elderly person.”

Frustration tightened her muscles. She wasn’t getting concrete answers she could work with, so she asked another question. “How do I figure out who it is?”

“A demon this powerful can’t detach himself from the structure. And he can’t depend on guests to fulfill his appetites. This Sylvia was lured there by a helper. She was seduced into a meeting inside the hotel. You might have an incubus. It would make sense. An incubus seduces his victims, then drains them of their energy once they are aroused. If he’s not a soulless killer, he’ll take only what he needs, sparing his victim. In this case, he likely leaves them only weakened so the demon can finish them. If you encounter one, be careful because he will be powerfully potent. You won’t be able to resist his allure,” he said with a wry twist of his lips. “Now that the demon of the house knows you are seeking him and has tasted for himself what you are, he’ll have his minion trolling for you. You could be in great danger.”

“Then she’s not stepping foot inside there again,” Sam said, his voice flat.

Morin’s dark eyes reflected a hint of remorse. “She’s the only one who can fight this—unless you’re willing to let the demon take more victims. You can’t do it, Samuel Pierce. You aren’t equipped to do battle with a supernatural entity.”

“What’s it going to take to kill him?” Cait asked, her stomach quivering slightly at the thought of what she might have to do. “Should I be looking for a priest to do an exorcism?”

Morin smirked. “The only thing a priest might do is annoy the demon into seeking another residence where he will continue killing. Take heart in the fact the demon has betrayed his source of power and his Achilles’ heel. He consumes souls inside his walls. He has become the hotel.” His hands outlined the roof and the sides of the building. “The only way to vanquish him completely is to burn the structure to the ground.”

Deflated, Cait slumped in her chair. “Well, hell. That’s not helpful. There are a dozen full-time residents and laws that will make that a really bad idea. There has to be another way.”

Morin gave an impatient shake of his head. “Then take his accomplice out of the picture first. We can worry about the demon later when he can’t see beyond his walls.”

“How do we find him?”

Morin’s head canted. His gaze swept her body before landing on her mouth. “I think he will find you.”

“Dammit, Cait.” The chair beside her scraped on the floor.

“Shut up, Sam,” she said giving him a sideways glance. “This is like any other investigation. We’re baiting a perp to show himself.” To Morin, she asked, “Any hints how we’ll know which of the guests or staff he is? He’s not attached to the hotel. He can move around freely. He could be anybody.”

“You’ve interviewed everybody. Who is the most eager to involve themselves in your investigation? Incubi are inquisitive, mischievous. He’ll consider seducing you a challenge.”

Sam stiffened. “The TV crew.”

Cait nodded and gave Sam a tight smile. “Then that’s where we’ll start. We’ll invite them to join us. To set up their cameras. But while they’re watching for ghosts, we’ll be watching for the one who’s most curious about us.”

Sam turned to Morin. “Once we’ve found him, what then? How do we take him out?”

Morin’s smile was benign. “He’s a true shape-shifter. He lives in a stolen life. Don’t worry that you must destroy a human. His shell is as vulnerable as any man’s. Kill him by any ordinary means.”

“That’s good news,” Cait said, as a bit of tension released inside. “We lost the demon-sucking bellows when we shattered the mirror.”

Morin smiled at her words. “You won’t be drawing a demon out of a human host. No bellows required. Besides, do you think that was the only tool at my disposal?”

Cait sighed. “How do you do it? How do you always have everything? How do you even replenish your stores?”

“Celeste brings me things. Ingredients, groceries for when I grow bored with what is always in my cupboards.”

Her attention caught on that last statement. “Is it magical? If I eat the bread in your bread basket, will there be another loaf when I look again?”

His smile stretched wide, deepening the faint crow’s feet at the sides of his eyes. “And how many years has it taken you to figure that out?”

“Give me some credit.” Cait frowned. “I didn’t know you were trapped in an enchanted shop. Have you ever tried walking out the door when someone leaves?”

His smile tightened, and he physically winced. “I’ve tried walking, running, jumping through the door, and all the windows. There is no escape for me. Each time, I meet a barrier I can’t crash through.”

His gaze rested on her again, and she felt a weight settle in her chest. “You still expect me to free you?”

“Someday, I hope you will find the confidence in me to try.”

“It’s not a matter of confidence, Morin. You’re the most powerful sorcerer even Celeste has ever known. If you don’t know a spell, how the hell do you expect me to work the magic?”

His eyebrows moved up and down. “Frustrating, isn’t it?”

She bit her lip then giggled.

“Cait.” Sam’s hand slid behind her waist.

“Right.” She cleared her throat. “We have work to do.”

“You know, you have powers I don’t,” Morin said, tapping his bottom lip with his forefinger. “Perhaps you should try speaking to the dead to find the apprentice.”

She tilted her head, considering it. “Since ghosts aren’t exactly popping out of closets, a summoning spell?”

“Do you remember one?”

“There’s one in my mother’s book. All I need’s a butterfly.” Cait pushed back her chair and rose. Sam’s scraped beside her. “Bye, Morin.”

“Bye-bye, Caitlyn.” He held out his hand. A small brass key lay across his palm.

Cait swiped it off and curled her hand. She might need to find him quickly the next time. Better to have the key so she didn’t have to waste time on a locator spell that might not work.

After one last searching glance and silent thanks, she left the kitchen and strode toward the door. With a twist of the knob, she stepped back into the sunny café alcove.

Around them the sounds of Beale Street on a hot summer’s day returned in a jarring cacophony.

No one around them seemed to notice their arrival or the door that hadn’t been there a moment before.

“No one’s looking this way,” Sam said, his voice gruff. “Why’s that? We just walked through a door that’s not supposed to be here.”

“It’s not for them to see,” she said, enjoying the deepening frown that darkened his blue-as-the-sky eyes.

“Would I see the door if I came back without you?”

Cait shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you should try it sometime.” She blew out a deep breath and glanced around them. “It’s going to be a hike.”

Sam grunted. “We couldn’t have followed the crows in the car?”

She flashed him a smile. “Would it have been nearly as much fun?”

His lopsided grin made her heart skip a beat. Lord, he was a sexy man. Too bad they had work to do.

A butterfly shouldn’t be that hard to find.

7

“Are you planning a summer wedding? Or early fall? Keep in mind I can only provide monarchs through November.”

Sam shot a glare at Cait, who’d been smiling like a giddy bride since the moment they’d arrived at the Paradise Butterfly Farm—or at least like she imagined a giddy bride might smile.

On Cait, the forced excitement looked strangely maniacal. The vision wasn’t helped by the quick transformation she’d made in the car while driving there. Her long curly hair was confined to a high ponytail. She’d bitten her lips and pinched her pale cheeks to make them pink since she didn’t carry a handbag with cosmetics. The vacant stare and vapid smile wouldn’t have looked amiss on a blonde. He didn’t like it one bit.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Cait said, twirling the end of her ponytail. “I’m not feeling it. Do you have anything rare? Something really special?”

Mrs. Edelstein’s polite smile faltered. “The silver gulfs have a shorter season, but they would cost you more.”

No doubt she’d eyed Cait’s well-worn jeans and plain black tank and figured she was the one marrying up. Maybe Mrs. Edelstein figured her daddy’s bank account wouldn’t cover the expense of a butterfly release.

“I meant, do you have any truly rare butterflies here at all? I’ve been fascinated with butterflies ever since the idea popped into my mind.”

Mrs. E’s lips tightened just a little more, revealing a hint of annoyance.

Sam didn’t blame her. She hadn’t expected customers to arrive this late in the day. Cait’s wheedling pleas and hint that she needed “masses and masses” of butterflies to celebrate her wedding had convinced the woman to stay open long enough for them to make the twenty-minute drive to the outskirts of the city, where her “farm” sat on three acres of forested land.

Middle-aged and with unnaturally dark brown hair and a stout figure, Mrs. E, as she’d told them she preferred to be called, caved beneath the bright expectancy and stubborn charm of “Caitydid Migelo.” Her sigh gave away her surrender.

“The rare ones aren’t for release, dear. But if you’d like to see the butterfly house, I have some endangered species there. I don’t get many folks interested in seeing my treasures, other than the odd collector, and I won’t sell to them only to have their desiccated little bodies displayed on a wall like some trophy.”

“That’s so sweet of you!” Cait said, her expression wide-eyed, admiring. “Could I see those before we make our decision about which butterflies we’d like to have released during our nuptials?”

Nuptials? He’d never heard Cait use that word before. It made him shiver with dread. And what was she up to? The woman had tons of bugs. She’d never miss one from those swarming the monarch shed.

As Mrs. E turned on the beaten path to lead the way, Sam mouthed, What are you doing?

Cait lifted her shoulders. Go with it.

Mrs. E led them through another deeply wooded trail in her large backyard, toward a plastic-wrapped domed greenhouse. “It’s such a thrill to have visitors. Most of my business is conducted via the Internet these days.”

Cait tugged her hand free and skipped behind the older woman, her hair bobbing behind her. She tossed a smile over her shoulder and gave Sam a wink.

He couldn’t help but smile at her antics.

“I had no idea so many people were ordering butterflies for their weddings,” Cait jabbered on. “But when Aunt Celeste mentioned there were local breeders, I had to come see. I can’t imagine anything more appropriate for a wedding.”

Mrs. E nodded. “Yes, a caterpillar leaving its chrysalis to fly free… The change is so very symbolic of new life, isn’t it? Although butterflies are becoming the rage at funerals these days too.”

Sam shook his head at the nonsense. The thought of the type of wedding or funeral where butterflies flying out of boxes would be appropriate made him itch.

Cait had been far more sensible when they’d decided to marry. A service at City Hall with a judge had taken all of fifteen minutes. The only thing either of them had wanted to savor was the wedding night.

“You’re so very lucky you came today,” Mrs. E said, pausing at the door of yet another shed. “I found a Hessel’s hairstreak nectaring on an Amelanchier today. I bought an Atlantic white cedar, that’s the hairstreak’s host tree, and planted it years ago, hoping it would thrive so that I could see this day.”

“It’s that rare?” Cait said, her excitement unfeigned.

Mrs. E unlocked the rickety plastic door and pushed it open. “On the endangered species list, my dear. Just wait until you see it.”

As they entered, Sam blew out a breath, worried because Cait’s expression had lost its giddy vacancy for a split second.

Her eyes narrowed as her gaze flitted about, looking for her quarry. “What’s a hairstreak look like? I’m assuming that’s a butterfly, or is it a moth?”

“A butterfly. Minty green and brown. Ahhh. Here he is.”

The woman stood with her hands clasped in delight beside a butterfly “nectaring” on a white flower.

Sam eyed it, wondering about the fuss but admitting it was pretty. Mostly vivid green, the insect had white spots on its forewings, a dashed white line on its hindwings, and a rim of brown and black along the edges of its delicate larger wings.

“She’s perfect,” Cait whispered.

With his stomach sinking to his toes, he watched as Cait pulled her phone surreptitiously from her pocket and held it to the side while she tapped the screen.

A telephone rang in the distance.

Mrs. E turned toward the distant sound. “Oh my. That might be another customer. If you would come with me…”

Cait’s expression fell. Disappointment shone in her puppy-like eyes. “Can we stay here while you answer your call?” she asked, the wheedling note reentering her voice. “It’s so beautiful and peaceful, the ambience I need to convince my fiancé that butterflies are just the thing we need to finish off our wedding plans.”

The woman’s gaze darted to her precious butterfly, her smile slipping. “Well, if you promise not to touch a thing. I won’t be a moment.”

Cait smiled, her gaze following the woman until she left through the plastic door. Then she whipped her head toward Sam. “Quick, your coffee cup.”

Sam shook his head. “Cait, why not ask her for one of the monarchs? She has hundreds.”

She pulled a mulish face. “Because this butterfly has to be special.”

“It has to be endangered?”

“It’s the most special one here.” She stomped her foot. “Now give me that cup.”

Still in bride mode. He thought maybe the wedding thing had gone a little too far because she was acting like a bridezilla. But he handed her the cup. She was the witch. She knew what kind of butterfly she needed to summon the spirit of Sylvia Reyes.

She popped the lid and stepped off the path next to the tree. Then she lifted the cup over the butterfly, still munching happily away. But the moment she dropped the cup, the butterfly fluttered off. “Shit. Help me, Sam. Don’t let that butterfly get away!”

Sam started to lift his hands to tell her she was on her own, but her eyebrows dropped and she gave him that hundred-yard bridezilla stare guaranteed to scare the piss out of any red-blooded man.

And oddly, that look produced a feeling inside him, one that curdled his insides and made him start to sweat. “Honey, what do you want me to do?” he found himself saying automatically.

Cait hopped back onto the path and passed him the cup and lid. “Catch it! We have to get him before she comes back.”

Sam tucked the lid into his pants pocket and then followed her wild gaze as she scanned the greenhouse. He spotted the green butterfly fluttering on the branch of the stunted tree. “There,” he said, pointing, and then he leapt forward, the Styrofoam cup raised. He slowed once he neared the bug.

“Don’t let him get away. And don’t hurt him.”

“Shush,” he whispered.

“Like he can hear you?” she snarled. “Do butterflies even have ears?”

“Why am I suddenly wishing I was green and had wings?” Sam muttered. He stared down at the butterfly as its wings fluttered twice and its skinny little legs repositioned until it stared directly back at Sam. His heartbeat slowed, his eyes strained, unblinking as he brought the cup nearer.

“She’s coming back,” Cait hissed.

“Lord, fuck a duck,” he muttered and clapped the cup over the branch, trapping the butterfly.

A door rattled in the distance. “Miss Migelo? Yoohoo, I’m back. Um, what are you doing?”

Sam cursed, scooped his hand under the cup and turned, sure he’d just gotten caught, but his gaze snagged on Cait, who was sitting, holding banana slices while half a dozen butterflies swarmed her fingers.

He clipped the lid in place and then hid the cup behind him as he stepped back onto the path. “Honey, we have to go. Aunt Celeste is expecting us for dinner.”

“Do we have to?” she whined, but then her eyes nearly crossed as a plain brown-and-black butterfly flitted to the top of her head.

“Will you be placing an order today?” Mrs. E asked, her voice sounding strained.

“We’ll get back to you,” Sam said. “But thanks so much for your time and for sharing this,” he said, spreading his hands, forgetting about the cup in his hand for a second and wondering if the woman could hear the soft thuds of the butterfly trying to escape its confines.

Sam reached down with his free hand and hauled Cait to her feet. Then he wrapped his arm around her waist to propel her toward the door.

“Just give me a ring,” Mrs. E called after them. “And you can order directly from the website.”

Outside and heading at a swift clip toward the gate, Sam didn’t dare glance back. “Seriously, Cait?” he huffed. “You had to steal her pride and joy?”

“It’s not like I’m going to pluck its wings,” she groused.

Relief had him slowing his steps. Good Lord. He’d been worrying about a bug?

“Trying to return it will be troublesome,” Cait said softly.

Sam gave her waist a squeeze. “I’ll have a uniform drop it by. Say it was found by a concerned citizen.”

Cait laughed and glanced up from beneath her lashes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so nervous. All that talk about weddings had you sweating.”

“I wasn’t nervous,” he said, his voice gruff. “Just in a hurry.”

“Sure you were.”

He helped her into the car, handing her the cup to hold while he backed out of the driveway. The trip to Celeste’s took a good thirty minutes due to drivers heading home from work.

The moment they pulled up, Celeste turned the CLOSED sign in the window. “I have da ingredients prepared. You have da butterfly?”

“The rarest I could find,” Cait said, holding up the cup. “Endangered, even.”

Celeste clucked her tongue. “Will make a powerful spell. Shall I steep da wings in boilin’ water?”

“No!” both he and Cait shouted. They shared a sheepish glance.

“Um, all I need are scales,” Cait said, reaching up to tug the rubber band from her hair. “Not so much he won’t be able to fly. He’s a living creature. Wouldn’t want to anger a goddess at this point.”

“Uh-huh,” Celeste said, eyeing them both. “It’s a bug. Not a metaphor for your love life.”

Sam’s jaw sagged.

“Who you t’ink gave her da idea to pretend ta be a bride? Not the first idea dat came to her mind. She wanted ta be a collector.”

Cait’s cheeks burned as she hugged the Styrofoam against her chest. “We’ll take everything home with us. I’ll mix it when the moon’s full. It’ll give the ink a little extra punch.”

Celeste eyed her doubtfully. “You don’ need help?”

“This one I can manage. It’s something I helped my mother make. I remember everything.”

Celeste gave her a grave nod. “Let me bottle up da steeped saffron. Be right back.”

Sam waited until Celeste disappeared and then grabbed her wrist to pull her close. “You were pretty convincing back there,” he drawled, looking down into her wide green eyes.

Cait sniffed. “I’ve watched Bridesmaids. I know the secret code.”

He gave an exaggerated shiver. “I’m glad you’re not really like that. Your act was kind of scary.”

Her soft grunt was pure Cait. “Scarier than me going ninja on a demon’s ass?”

“Uh, I get your point.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and then spread wide. Her fingers walked up the buttons of his shirt. “Do you know your voice was higher when you were calling me ‘honey’?”

“Felt like my balls were in a vise,” he growled. “But it was kind of fun. You can play a giddy bride to my whipped fiancé anytime,” he said, knowing he flirted with danger but unable to resist this playful side of Cait.

“You were pretty convincing yourself, Detective. Maybe you should consider undercover work.”

“Huh” came a soft huff beside them.

Sam raised his head to find Celeste standing there, her dark brows raised high. “Now I know why you’re bot’ so eager ta get home.”

Cait laughed and pulled from his embrace.

“Saffron and gum arabic are in da bag,” Celeste said, handing her a small hemp sack with the drawstring loosened. “And som’tin’ for when you two are alone.” Her full bottom lip pushed out. Amusement gleamed in her large dark eyes.

Cait’s gaze widened, and she peeked into the bag. “An apple?”

“A golden apple. You so fond of Greek goddesses, you ask Aphrodite for her blessings.” Her chin pointed toward Sam. “Den have him take a bite.”

Cait whispered back harshly, “I don’t need that kind of help. And we don’t need to be discussing it with him standing right there.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

“Sure you do. He’s already mad for you, chère,” she said, tapping her finger under Cait’s chin. “But it never hurts ta give him anot’er nudge.” Celeste winked then went to the window to turn her sign.

At the car, Sam glanced back at the shop just as a customer entered. “Why is the store always empty when we go there?”

“Guess it must be magic,” Cait drawled as she slid into the vehicle.

Sam closed his own door and then shot a glance her way. “Do I have to ask about the apple?”

“It’s yellow. Not gold.”

He arched a brow. “And?”

“Do you know who Aphrodite was?”

Sam shrugged as he pulled into traffic. “Some Greek goddess? Was she the warrior?”

“Nope.” But her sigh was one of pure relief.

Sam made a note to Google Aphrodite and golden apples. “She’s right, you know,” he said, watching her from the corner of his eye. “I am mad for you, Cait.”

Her chest rose around a deep inhalation. Sam had said he loved her a few times, usually when they thought they were about to die or he was sated with sex. She deserved better from him. “You heard that?”

“She wasn’t whispering,” he said, giving her a wry smile.

“Hmm.” Cait turned away and fisted her hand at her side. “Yes,” came a quiet, but emphatic hiss.

Sam couldn’t help the deep chuckle or the urge to reach across the seat and capture her hand. Without saying another word, he drove on.

Her stomach growled. “Think we can drop the bag and the butterfly at my apartment and grab a bite? Morin forgot to feed me.”

“Have to wait for the full moon anyway, right?” Sam flipped the turn signal. “Sure. O’Malley’s?”

“We’ll kill two birds. We need to catch up with Jason.”

Sam nodded, then realized it was the first time the mention of O’Malley’s didn’t make his stomach tighten in rejection. So, the place was a bar. They served booze. But so far, Cait had held strong. He wondered if she still felt the urge to drown the voices with a bottle, but was afraid to ask in case the question got her thinking he wasn’t ready to start trusting her.

Morin’s words came back to him. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. He was sure Morin hadn’t mentioned his trust issues because he wanted to help their relationship. But the mention did get Sam thinking that maybe it was time he tried a little harder.

Or was he holding on to his distrust for another reason? Did he want an excuse to guard himself against the pain if they didn’t work out?

Sam didn’t like to think he was a coward. But the last time they’d broken up, he’d been driven to his knees with sorrow and anger. That was before he’d learned she had reasons for hitting the bottle in the first place, although she’d only mentioned one. The whispers of ever-present spirits couldn’t be the only thing she wanted to escape.

Sam slammed the car door closed and met Cait’s questioning glance across the top of the car. Pasting on a half-smile, he circled the car and held up his elbow. “Can’t have anyone thinking Miss Migelo didn’t land herself quite a catch.”

8

Cait entered O’Malley’s and drew in a deep breath through her nose. All the familiar scents assailed her, the most prominent being alcohol. How she loved this place. Loved the feeling that swept through her when she entered. Here, she felt safe. Cocooned from sorrow and her problems. There was always a smiling face to greet her, even if it was only Pauly happy to serve her a drink.

Pauly gave her a small wave, perhaps holding his enthusiasm because of Sam. He was well aware she’d “taken the pledge” since renewing her working and personal relationship with her ex.

And Sam wasn’t a fan. Too many times he’d lit a fire under Pauly’s ass for continuing to serve Cait past the point she could walk a straight line out the door. Not that Pauly was to blame. She’d liked getting shit-faced. She was a grown woman and had made her own choices. Or so she’d said.

Tonight, she wasn’t so sure she’d ever been the one in charge. Not with the irresistible sour odor of scotch wafting in the air. Her mouth watered.

“What’s your poison tonight?” Pauly asked as they drew near.

“Cokes,” she blurted before Sam had the chance to order for her. Her stomach growled. “And could we have some fish and chips?”

Pauly gave her a smile. “Glad to see you both,” he said, lifting his chin to the opposite side of the tavern’s crowded floor. “I’ll bring everything to the table. Your partner’s already there.”

Cait’s gaze whipped around, and she spotted Jason raising a glass of dark beer from across the room.

Sam’s hand guided her through the tables, and then he stood to the side as she slipped across the leather bench.

Jason grinned at Sam. “I see you found our escapee.” Then he leaned toward Cait. “How’d your day go?”

“Fine.” Cait cleared her throat, wondering where to start. “We got some workable intel from Morin.”

Jason arched a brow.

Sam shook his head. “She’s going to do a spell to summon Sylvia Reyes’s spirit.”

Cait gave Sam a quelling glare. “Way to jump right in.”

“So just another day, I see.” Jason made a face and nodded.

Cait eyed Jason. As always, his shirt was perfectly pressed, his blond hair smooth. The only time she’d seen him anything but dapper was after a wraith flung him around like a life-sized rag doll. She flashed him a quick grin. “Your fingers little nubs?”

He held up both hands. “Not so nubby, but I have a headache from staring at the damn screen. Why is it you always get the most exciting jobs?”

“Because I’m special.” Cait tilted her head.

“Oh, you’re special, all right,” Jason said, then took another gulp of beer. “So, what did your trip to the mage get ya?”

Cait filled him in on what she’d learned about the kinds of monsters they were facing, not sugarcoating the dangers.

“Really think the incubus might be that creep Clayton?”

“Or one of his cronies,” Cait muttered. “Just because he’s the mouth doesn’t mean he does the thinking.”

Sam nodded. “Mina seems a lot sharper than she likes to let on.”

“So we’re going to pull them into the investigation.” Jason leaned back and sighed. “Gonna share everything we know? Give them warning just in case they meet the demon in the walls?”

Sam and Cait shared a glance.

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. How do you want to play it, Cait?”

Her brows waggled. “Given I’m so good at playing a role, huh?” she said, dropping her voice to a sultry purr.

“TMI, guys,” Jason groaned. “I don’t need to know Sam dresses up as Superman or that you have a French maid’s costume in the closet.”

Cait shook her head slowly. “Seriously? That’s the first thing you thought of?”

Jason’s face turned red. “Maybe I should tell you what I learned.”

Cait leaned toward Sam. “He’s changing the subject.”

“Let it drop, Cait,” Sam said, his voice deepening. “Some secrets are only need-to-know.”

Cait’s jaw dropped. “You told a joke? And a good one?”

He grimaced. “I’m not without a sense of humor.”

“No, Mr. Ex-Marine. You were born without a funny bone.”

“I love it when you two coo like lovebirds,” Jason said, a smile splitting his face, “but I really do have some information to share.”

Sam and Cait turned toward Jason, smiles fading.

“What did you find out?” she asked.

Jason tapped the table. “First, I checked with the medical examiner. Although Sylvia’s body was pretty dried out, he believes she died from the trauma of having her internal organs ripped out. Postmortem, her bones were methodically broken to make her fit into the space between the walls. He thinks it was done with a hammer because some appeared nearly pulverized, but he couldn’t actually find any rounded indentions in the bones to prove it.”

Cait wrinkled her nose. “Not sure how knowing that will be helpful, and I certainly didn’t want that picture in my mind. What did your Internet search turn up?”

Jason leaned forward. “There are more bodies to be found. That’s a certainty. The Deluxe has been the center of several missing persons investigations, going back to the early eighties. But there’s never been a single shred of evidence found. Not until they dug Sylvia out of the wall.

“And our ol’ bud, Oscar Reyes?” Jason snorted. “He’s been busted a couple of times for battery. He’s not shy about using his fists when someone pisses him off. Last time he was convicted of beating up a girlfriend. Another ex-hooker. Guess he thinks if he saves them, they’re his to treat however he pleases.”

“Nice guy,” Sam murmured. “So it’s possible Oscar might have something to do with Sylvia’s death. But I can’t see him being the incubus.”

Cait turned to meet Sam’s worried gaze. “But he might have met him. Maybe he’s the one who put the incubus onto Sylvia. If we can figure out the incubus’s hunting grounds, we can figure out whether Oscar had a hand in all this.”

Sam nodded, running a hand over his chin.

Cait heard the chafe of his five o’clock shadow. Sexy. Maybe her expression had turned dreamy because Sam’s gaze sparkled as he continued.

“I’m sure Leland would appreciate having someone human to pin this on.”

Cait blew out a deep breath and leaned back against the leather-upholstered seat. “I was so hoping it was a completely demon thing. Oscar really gives me the creeps.”

Both men gave her disbelieving stares.

“Yeah, I said it. Oscar’s a sleazebag. He hired us to find proof of his wife’s infidelity when he had it right in his hands. He’s the kind of guy who would take it out on her flesh himself—unless he found an easier way of disposing of her. Something more painful. And note this,” she said tapping the table for emphasis, “we haven’t heard a word from him since this all went down. I would have thought a grieving husband would be on the phone that night to hear what we found out.”

Sam nodded, his gaze turning to the window as though lost in thought. “He already knew she’d be dead.” He shook his head, his lips tightening. “I’ll have Oscar hauled in for questioning in the morning.”

“You need to do the questioning,” Cait said, turning her body toward Sam. “Your homicide buddies won’t have a clue what to ask. Can you handle it on your own?”

He grunted and slouched in the chair. “You think I don’t know how to conduct an interrogation?”

“It’s not that. I want to get with the Reel PIs guys as soon as possible. Since I’m Teflon-coated now, you don’t have to worry about me getting zapped.”

“And being pulled back in time and pushed into a wall isn’t something to worry about?”

She cocked her head. “I don’t think I’ll be that vulnerable again.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Careful. Jason’s gonna think you’re the one who wears the cape.”

“Which would put you in the black skirt,” she said, smiling.

The sound of a throat clearing beside them had all heads turning.

Pauly stood beside them, grinning. “I don’t wanna know.” He slid two large plates of fish with fries in front of Sam and Cait.

“Want some?” Cait said to Jason as she stuffed a fry into her mouth, savoring the crisp potato and its saltiness. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

“I don’t want to lose a finger.”

She snagged the malt vinegar from Pauly’s tray before he had a chance to offer it.

“Douse your food with that?” Jason said, his head shaking as he watched her mill into her food. “Sam won’t be kissing you anytime soon.”

She waggled her eyebrows. “I’ll make it worth the effort.”

Pauly and Jason both groaned, and then laughed. Sam chuckled and tucked into his food.

“Gonna eat all your fries?” she asked him, blinking her eyelashes.

“Course not, honey.”

“Aw,” Jason moaned with a shake of his head. “Another one bites the dust.”

Back at her apartment, Cait listened to the sound of the shower starting in the distance before moving a chair to the closet and climbing up to root into the top shelf. She pulled down the leather-bound book and carried it to the kitchen table where she had her ingredients spread before her.

Rubbing a finger across the engraving of a pentagram on the front cover, she drew a deep, calming breath. The book was hers now. Not her mama’s. Not any of the witches in its long past.

Just like the rose quartz ball handed down the generations, the book came with mystical energy that transferred ownership to the next with a touch. The first time she’d sat at this table and read through the spells and stories her predecessors shared, she’d felt as though a part of their souls mingled with her own.

Not that she was suddenly as wise as Yoda. She was still herself, but with knowledge that was inborn and unawakened until she’d accepted the gift.

It was sudden knowledge she hadn’t mentioned to Sam because he wouldn’t understand. At times like these, when she was feeling reflective, she wished she had a friend in the magical world to talk to. Morin would have been the perfect choice if he hadn’t turned out to be no friend at all.

Maybe she was being harsh and more than a little bitter about how things had gone down. But the fact was her mother died because she’d wanted to sever both of their unnatural attractions for the man. Both she and Lorene had been seduced.

He’d played the soulful mentor, the reluctant lover, all in hopes of drawing her into his life and teaching her just enough to free him. Cait felt shame over falling for his act.

Her mother had figured out Morin’s motives but really should have told her. Lorene had forbidden a lust-addled seventeen-year-old girl from seeing a man Cait believed was her romantic destiny. Then Lorene had attempted a spell to break the bonds, only to accidentally poison herself in the process.

Out of grief and guilt, Cait had shunned Morin and magic. Turned her back on Celeste as well, because she’d wanted nothing of her old life. Instead, she’d submersed herself in her father’s, becoming a cop. Something she’d been good at until the voices got the best of her and she’d begun to drink to quiet them. Maybe they’d driven her a little crazy.

But she was back now. Ready to embrace the part of herself she’d so long denied.

She turned the pages until she found the summoning spell her mother had recorded all those years ago, after she’d attempted one last reunion with Cait’s father.

On this day, I summoned my husband from the dead. This spell is one I read about in Morin’s Book, but some of the ingredients had to be substituted because they are no longer commonly found.

Steep three strands of saffron in boiling water and set the strands and water aside to cool.

Add a tablespoon of gum arabic for thickening.

Pour a jigger of alcohol into the mixture and stir…

Alcohol, hell.

Cait bit the side of her lip and eyed the bathroom door, heard the water still trickling down, and hurried to the broom closet. At the bottom, behind the mop pail, she pulled out a small bottle of Glenfiddich scotch. One Sam had never found when he’d cleaned out all the booze.

She rushed to the table and tipped the bottle, splashing good scotch into her mother’s conjuring chalice. Back to the closet, she quickly hid the bottle, stopped to light incense on the counter to mask the odor, and then added the other ingredients.

The smell that rose as she swirled her mother’s athamé nearly had Cait bending to put her nose against the rim to breathe it in. The scent was beyond enticing.

Delicious. Bracing. Pulling memories from the farthest corners of her mind of a time when her mother had sat quietly beside her father, watching the television, while he’d sipped from an old Waterford highball glass he’d inherited from his Irish mother.

Scotch had been her drink because it had been her father’s.

The bathroom door opened and closed. Cait braced herself, wondering whether he’d detect the smell, and then feeling guilty as hell for trying to conceal the alcohol.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Then she set aside the blade and gripped the edge of the table with both hands. “Sam,” she called out.

He padded to the kitchen door, a towel around his lean hips. “Need something, Cait?”

His gaze resting on her was so calm, so steady, she couldn’t stand the suspense a moment longer.

“I have a bottle of scotch in the broom closet,” she blurted. “I needed a jigger for the spell.”

Sam’s expression remained unchanged. “Thanks for letting me know, sweetheart.” He turned and made his way back into the bedroom.

Her shoulders slumped. “That’s it?” she whispered to herself.

“I have to give trust to earn it, Cait,” he called from the other room.

She shook her head, oddly disappointed at the fact he seemed to be taking this all in stride. “You really are Superman if you heard that,” she muttered.

“Capes are for pansies.”

A gust of laughter surprised her. “Want to help me with the butterfly?”

“Sure. Let me get on some pants.”

“Don’t bother. Magic works best when you’re naked.”

“I’m not the one casting, Cait,” he said, wry humor roughening his voice.

“Oh, right.”

He appeared in the doorway again, sans towel. “But it would sure save time for when you finish.”

Cait grinned, surprised when his frame shimmered. She blinked and realized her eyes had filled. She swallowed hard against a dry throat.

“Dammit,” he said under his breath, then strode toward her, his arms opening.

She snuggled against his chest. “I’m sorry I hid it.”

“I know.” His hand cupped the back of her head. “But you told me. That’s something, Cait.”

She wrapped her arms around his back and rubbed her hands on his naked skin. “I love you. I’m trying.”

“I know.”

A kiss landed on her temple, and she turned her head toward his mouth, which gently pressed against hers. Arousal swirled in her belly, but she pushed it aside.

He growled. “Better get on with whatever it is you’re making.”

The reason for his surliness was trapped between their bodies, nudging at her belly. She smiled and leaned away. “Won’t take long. There’s a bell jar in the cabinet above the stove.”

“A bell jar?”

“A domed thingie with a handle on top. Need it for the butterfly.”

“That poor thing’s still in the cup?”

“He’ll be fine. The jar?”

With his cock fully erect and bobbing, he padded to the cupboard, which afforded her a very nice view of his back and bottom. Sam’s frame didn’t have an ounce of pudge. Everything was hard, ladders of muscles rippling between his shoulders and down his back as he reached for the jar. His ass made her sigh. Hard, round…

Hard, hard, hard kept repeating in her mind.

He turned and caught her ogling. A dark brow arched over wicked blue eyes. “Thought you were supposed to be naked.”

Well, that specification wasn’t written in her mama’s book, but Cait wasn’t above a little fibbing if it meant Sam would look at her the way she did at him. Her clothes melted away, and she kicked them to a corner. Laundry, she’d worry about later.

Naked as he, she held out her hands for the crystal, then nodded toward the cup. “Uncap the lid, but don’t let him out. Then hold it under the jar.”

She slid the jar across the tabletop, leaving a gap beneath where he held the cup, and slowly slid off the lid. The butterfly flew upward, and she slid the jar to close it against the wooden surface.

“What’s next?” Sam asked.

She quickly combined the saffron and the thickener with the alcohol, stirring with her fingers. The liquid turned a warm honey color.

Then she tilted the jar, slipped her hand beneath the edge, and held her fingers still.

The butterfly landed on a fingertip.

She smiled and glanced at Sam, who was smiling too, but whose furrowed brows indicated he didn’t understand the point of what she was doing.

She fluttered her fingers and the butterfly took flight, wings brushing against her wet fingers. Small specks of green dust were left behind. “That should do it,” she said, easing out her hand and lowering the rim to the table again.

Returning to the chalice, she stirred and stirred, imagining Sylvia Reyes as she’d looked, flicking back her hair and smacking her lips before entering the hotel. The horror in her face as she faded against the yellowed walls of the hallway.

When she finished, she poured the liquid into a vial.

“That’s it?” Sam asked, coming behind her and resting a hand on her shoulder. “No words?”

“The words are meant to be written at the time of summoning the spirit.”

“The butterfly?”

She produced a twig with blossoms she’d snapped off at the butterfly farm. “It’ll be fine until you hand it off to a uniform to deliver.”

“Then you’re done.”

She didn’t complete a nod before he swung her up into his arms and marched to the bedroom.

Laughing, she clung to his broad shoulders. “Did I ever tell you I love it when you go all caveman on me?”

His lips twisted into a smug smile. Then he tossed her onto the sheets.

9

“You’ve been a busy boy,” she murmured, noting he’d already pulled back the covers to the end of the bed. Two pillows were stacked in the center beside her hips. “Should I be worried?”

Sam shook his head, then leaned over her, grabbing her wrists and then wrapping her fingers around the wooden spokes of her Mission headboard.

His expression, so tight and dark, sent a thrill through her. She tightened her fingers and stretched out her body, ready to let him arrange her any way he wanted.

Sam knelt on the mattress and grabbed the pillows, sliding them closer to her hips.

Without a word, she lifted them, giving a little helpless moan as he quickly gripped her and centered her just so.

Then his hands glided over the tops of her thighs, stopping at her knees. He spread them and looked down, his smoldering gaze locking on her intimate flesh. His chest rose with a deep inhalation. His eyelids dipped before he speared her with a challenging glance.

Cait swallowed hard, her body tensing, liquid seeping from inside her. She tried to close her thighs to squeeze away the ache, but his hands settled on her knees and pushed them farther apart.

She opened, cool air brushing her warm, wet sex. An exquisite tension caused her belly and thighs to quiver, intensifying when a ripple tensed Sam’s square jaw as he stared down.

Everything slowed. Her breaths. Her heart. Her thoughts. Like the times when she tossed up crushed herbs and waited with an eagerness that burned through her for the murder of crows to explode into the air.

She waited. At his mercy. Her damp fingers slipping on the spokes.

And then his large palms glided from her knees up her inner thighs. His thumbs parted her. His head bent.

Before his mouth touched her, she rolled her hips and let loose a moan. “Oh God, Sam.”

The tip of his hardened tongue dove inside her, swirling in her depths before slicking upward to flick her burgeoning clit.

Her back bowed, and the tips of her breasts tightened. Deciding his silent command to grip the headboard was more of a suggestion not to interfere with what he was doing, she cupped her small mounds, massaging, giving herself comfort as his clever tongue lapped and spanked and his teeth nibbled away.

“Sam… Sam…”

Two thick fingers entered her, and she squeezed her inner muscles to trap them. Fluid gushed and coated them as they began to plunge inside her, and he continued to torture her clitoris.

Her orgasm erupted, an explosion of painful pleasure—so quickly, she arched and screamed. Her eyelids drifted shut.

His body shifted, climbing over her, his knees bumping her thighs in his haste to be inside her. The moment he thrust forward, her eyes shot open and their gazes locked.

Sam tsked and shook his head, pushing up her hands to rest beside her head. “Can’t seem to obey the rules, sweetheart.”

She’d have answered, but her throat was thick, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her heart outpaced her thoughts, thudding strong against her chest. “Just fuck me, please,” she managed to grit out.

His torso lowered, his hands slipped beneath her, cupping her ass, and he ground into her, deep, barreling thrusts that shook the bed and her to the very core.

Lord, how he filled her. In every way a woman could ask. His size dwarfed her, sinking her body deep into the mattress. His cock stretched her walls, his girth enough all by itself to incite another orgasm, which was quickly overtaking her. He understood her. Loved her despite the fact she thwarted him, lied to him, kept secrets. Despite her many weaknesses.

His face burrowing into her neck, Sam grunted, deep masculine gusts as his chest and belly rubbed against her skin, the fine dark hairs abrading her pebbled nipples.

The fingers cupping her, dug into her fleshy bottom, massaging her, nails dragging on her sensitive skin. She’d have bruises, scrapes, but she didn’t care. His passion was earthy, ardent—an extension of his overwhelming masculinity.

Cait lifted her legs and hugged them around his waist, pushing up her hips to grind against his strokes, heat building inside her as he continued to churn and thrust.

Sam withdrew his hands and leaned on one elbow. Without slowing the rocking of his hips, he slipped the other between their sweat-slicked bodies and burrowed one finger into the top of her folds. “Again.”

Not a question as to whether she could, but a command.

She stared upward, her mouth open as she panted. Her eyelids fluttered, and then she was there, writhing beneath him, coming undone. The pleasure overtook her slowly this time, radiating outward from where he rubbed and circled to shiver through her belly and limbs.

When her agonized cry echoed against the walls, he cursed, rising on his hands to power into her, unrelenting, stretching her orgasm into a glorious explosion of light and sizzling nerve endings.

When at last he shouted and slowed, she hugged him close, wrapping herself around him, squeezing to keep him there inside her, to make the moment last and last.

A kiss grazed her cheek. “You okay?” he murmured softly.

Tired, replete, she smiled, letting her head fall back as her hands roamed his sturdy body. “You killed me.”

“Twice, I think.” His grin was boyish. Beautiful against his strong, harshly etched features.

She bracketed his face with her hands and reached up to kiss his mouth, nuzzling his nose afterward. The scent of her arousal filled her nose. “I’ve never had better, you know.” And that fact was true. As luxuriously sensual as lovemaking with Morin had been, the raw intensity Sam brought to her bed made her tremble.

“You are not thinking about him in this bed,” he growled, lifting himself on one stiff arm.

“Jealous?” A thrill shot through her at his tone. “You shouldn’t be. I chose you.”

Sam gave a sharp shake of his head. “Better sleep. You and I both have to hit the ground running in the morning.”

She hadn’t wanted a reminder of the difficulties ahead, and made a face. “You had to kill the moment.”

His grin was roguish. “I could make you forget again…”

The wicked gleam in his eyes made her laugh. And then his cock twitched inside her, and she knew he wasn’t exaggerating one little bit. She blew a breath into his ear, then whispered, “Round two?”

“Someone should have paid closer attention in math class. The lady can’t count.”

Cait laughed. Her mother wouldn’t have agreed.

Cait wasn’t sure what woke her just before dawn. A tingling feeling that made her want to scratch her skin, but not really a physical thing.

She glanced beside her and smiled. Sam lay on his side, his shoulders broad and as high as a mountain. The urge to rake her fingers through his chest hair was strong, but the tingling persisted. Not that she thought something was wrong—the hairs on the back of her neck didn’t prickle—but something was definitely up.

As quietly as she could manage, she slipped out of the bed, dragged Sam’s white T-shirt over her head, and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. Then she tiptoed from the bedroom, through the living room, her gaze scanning the rooms. Nothing caught her attention. She opened her front door and stepped outside.

Already the sun was rising, with not a cloud in the sky. The air was balmy and would be hot as hell today. She sat on the stoop, her legs stretched out straight to watch the first cars whiz by.

“Finally!”

Cait’s head swiveled toward the voice. Her eyes widened. Beside her, a woman stood with blonde chin-length hair and dressed in a slim gray skirt and gray silk shell. Cait recognized her instantly. Gray-girl had been her first encounter with a ghost when Cait had accidentally barreled right through her on the sidewalk in front of her apartment.

“You do see me!” the woman exclaimed.

“No, I don’t,” Cait said, her voice flat. She didn’t have time for a conversation with a ghost who’d inevitably want something. And just because Cait could see her didn’t mean she owed gray-girl a thing.

“I’m Evelyn.”

“And I’m busy.”

The woman drew closer, eyeing her clothes. “You don’t look like you’re in a hurry to be anywhere.”

“And you do,” Cait said, giving the other woman’s business attire a similar sweep.

“I always do. I wake up, and I’m walking.” She shook her head. “I don’t know where. But I’m always on this street, heading to the trolley.”

Cait sighed. Chatty Cathy wasn’t going away.

“You see me.”

“Do you always repeat yourself?”

“No need to be rude,” the woman said, frowning. “I just can’t get over it. It’s been… I don’t know how long. Anyway, no one has ever seen me before.”

“Don’t you see other ghosts?”

She shook her head. “They don’t count. They have so many problems. If I stop to say hello, I get the whole story about how they passed, who they’re haunting. It gets tedious.”

“I can’t imagine,” Cait drawled.

“I saw you with a man the last time. You left together. Is he your husband?”

“My ex.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “And you still sleep with him? Isn’t that awkward?”

“Not a bit. We both like sex.”

The woman’s cheeks blushed. “I would never sleep with a man if I wasn’t married to him. Not even if I had been married to him.”

Cait felt a lecture on sinning coming and pushed off the step. “Look, it’s been nice chatting.”

The woman reached out to grab her forearm, but her hand passed right through. “But you can’t go. You see me.”

“So you’ve said three times now.”

The woman’s head dropped but then lifted again. A small, sad smile curved her pretty mouth. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

Guilt settled like a heavy stone in Cait’s stomach. The ghost was obviously lonely and confused. “Look, this is where I live. You’re welcome to bother me again the next time you see me.”

Gratitude shone in Evelyn’s soft gray-blue eyes. “I’d like that.”

Cait tilted her head to look into Evelyn’s face. “So, how did you pass?”

A slight frown wrinkled the woman’s smooth forehead. “I don’t like to think about it. If I don’t for a long, long while, I forget the details. And the memory’s not quite as painful.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to bring you down.”

“You didn’t. You can see me,” she said, one side of her mouth quirking up. “Well, I have to go.” She lifted her arm to check the slender silver watch on her wrist. “I have to catch the trolley.”

As the woman set off at a brisk pace, Cait shook her head. Another mystery left on her doorstep. Literally. But she didn’t have time now to pursue it. And she didn’t know what she’d do with the knowledge if she ever figured it out. Seeing the dead seemed to bring a wagonload of unseen responsibilities. Ones she simply couldn’t ignore or she’d be forever wakening, itching with a feeling of something left undone. Which reminded her, she couldn’t forget about retrieving Gladys Digby.

She went back inside, made a quick pot of coffee, and headed to the shower. Wouldn’t Jason be shocked to see her dressed and ready to go? Glancing toward the bed, she found Sam watching her.

“Where were you?” he asked, then gave an enormous yawn.

“I stepped outside for some fresh air. Didn’t want to wake you.”

Eyebrow quirked, he patted the mattress.

But she shook her head. “We both know where that will lead.”

He rolled to his back and put his hands behind his head. The movement edged away the sheet, revealing more of his stunningly ripped torso and the top of his dark, happy trail.

When her glance slid back to his face, she spotted a self-satisfied smile rimming his mouth.

“We could conserve,” he murmured.

She arched a brow, and her pulse beat faster. “As in share the shower?”

“I’ll wash your back.”

“I’ve got some other places that might need a little soap.” Desire swirled in her belly.

He whipped back the sheet to reveal his erection. Long, heavy, and pulsing against his well-toned belly.

“Well, color me green,” she murmured. With Sam a step behind her all the way, Cait figured Jason would just have to wait. Wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it.

“What are you so happy about?”

As Leland’s loud bark drew every gaze in the murder room, Sam flinched. He leaned back in his swivel chair and cleared his face. The last thing he’d admit was that he’d been smiling at the image of Cait in a ponytail hopping through a greenhouse after a butterfly. “Just waiting for uniforms to bring in Reyes for questioning. Should be here any minute.”

“Stopped to tell you dogs and sonar are at the hotel now.” Leland rubbed the back of his neck. “Really think we’ll find more bodies?”

“We found a license from a woman who’s been missing for decades. We’ll find something.”

Leland dropped his hand. “Damn strange. I’ve gone years without having anything this fucking weird happen, and now twice in one year. Your ex-wife attracts some crazy shit.”

Sam gave Leland a quelling stare, but Leland didn’t appear to notice.

His chin tipped to the doorway. “Think your witness just arrived. Better get through the interview, and then back over to the hotel. No tellin’ what they’re gonna find, and I want a lid kept on it. Tighten it down.” His fist clenched at his side. “Can’t have word leakin’ out and every nut-job news rag descending. Might not be as easy to explain away as the last one.”

Sam eased out of his chair. “Want to sit in on this one?”

“Nah, but I’ll watch from behind the glass. Have to make sure no one comes in anyway. Too many details get around, your rep’ll be toast.”

Like Cait’s had been when rumors spread she had taken her full-moon cases a little too much to heart and started believing some of what she investigated.

Sam didn’t really give a flip about what the others thought but understood the need to keep a professional gloss on everything he did. Respect allowed him freedom from prying eyes, gave him the ability to come and go without a lot of questions. Discretion was key to getting the job done.

Sliding into a chair across from Oscar Reyes in the interrogation room, Sam summed up the man in a single glance—a thug with a temper. He flipped open a thick file, crammed with details about the man’s previous arrests. “I see you’ve had scrapes with the law before.”

Oscar’s gaze was dark, flat, soulless. “In my youth. I’m a respectable businessman now. I pay my taxes.” He glanced at the door. “Is this gonna take long? I have things to do.”

“Sir, your wife’s dead.”

“Ain’t that a damn shame,” Oscar said, his narrow pig-eyes widening. “I cried myself to sleep last night, but hey, life goes on.”

“Not for Sylvia.” Sam shook his head in disgust.

“She was a whore. I tried to rescue her from that life, gave her a good home.” His hand flattened on the table. “But I guess some habits are hard to break.”

“So, you believe your wife was seeing another man?”

“Yeah, got the proof on her computer. Had a couple of PIs follow her around. They can vouch for the fact the puta was steppin’ out.”

Sam aimed a deadly glare at the man.

Oscar’s lips pursed, and he leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but I gotta cope somehow. Better anger than grief, eh?”

Sam kept his expression neutral, although the effort caused him heartburn. “Have you ever been to the Deluxe Hotel?”

Oscar pushed out his lips. “Not that I can recall.”

Pulling a printout from the folder in front of him, Sam snorted. “Then can you explain how your credit card got charged for beers there on multiple occasions?”

“Don’t know.” Oscar’s gaze hardened. “Syl musta took my card.”

“Sylvia didn’t appear to drink beer. Her card shows charges at various restaurants and bars for mixed drinks. Why would she order only beer at the Deluxe?”

Oscar’s lips turned down, and he lifted his hands. “Not a clue. Maybe she was buyin’ her boyfriend drinks.”

“If I show the bartenders your picture, will they recognize you, Mr. Reyes?”

At last, Oscar twitched. Sweat broke out on his forehead, but he still tried to brazen out the situation. “Maybe I have been there a time or two. A business meeting, maybe.”

“A meeting where you made arrangements for a man to seduce your wife?” Sam stared hard, waiting for Oscar to betray himself by expression or action.

Oscar’s jaw ground shut. “We’re through talkin’ without my lawyer.”

And the conversation ends. Sam closed the folder and smiled. “That’s all right, Mr. Reyes. You get that lawyer ready. I’ll have more questions after I’ve done some more digging around.”

Oscar heaved up from the table, shot Sam a glance that looked panicked and furious all at once, and charged out of the room.

Leland was waiting in the hallway, his hands planted on his hips. “Sure you shoulda tipped your hand so soon that we think he’s involved?”

“Doesn’t matter. Reyes knows enough to be good and scared. He knows we’re on to him.” His finger tapped the folder. “I’ll bet money he’s heading straight to the boyfriend to warn him.”

“I’ll have a detective tail him. See where he ends up.”

Sam nodded. “I’m heading to the hotel. I don’t like Cait there on her own.”

“Me neither. Something hinky’s sure to happen.” Leland’s eyebrows lowered ominously. “Make sure the place doesn’t get blown up.”

10

Cait waded through the crowded lobby. Guests covered the couches and chairs while they whispered among themselves. The registration counter was blocked by others questioning the clerk about what was going on.

Three cadaver dogs had arrived, handled by private contractors who were already searching the floors in a methodical sweep, hotel staff with master keys letting them into every nook and cranny. A team operating sonar equipment was on the top floor and working its way down.

Rather than trail the dogs or the techs, Jason and Cait remained in the lobby, scanning the crowd, looking for anyone who appeared nervous about the search.

“What do you think about the kid in the green T-shirt?” Jason asked quietly.

“He’s worried someone’s gonna find his stash of weed,” she said, eyeing the skinny man who was sweating harder than was warranted—if he’d been an innocent man.

“There’s the manager, Avery Lewis.”

Cait turned to follow his gaze. Mr. Lewis wrung his hands, while his glance swept the people loitering in his lobby. Slightly disheveled, his suit was rumpled, his gray hair sticking up in places. He’d probably slept on his office couch rather than head home. She made a mental note to corner him later. Although he’d been interviewed the day after Sylvia’s death, he hadn’t been asked the questions she was most interested in hearing answers for.

Jason grunted, then pointed with his chin. “There’s the Reel PIs crew. They certainly don’t waste an opportunity.”

Cait’s upper lip curled in a snarl. “They’re recording this. When he gets here, I’ll have Sam tell the sergeant in charge to remind all his men that no one grants them an interview.”

“Think now might be a good time to bring them in on the investigation?”

For a moment, Cait fell silent. Things were already complicated as hell. As soon as they turned the crew loose on the investigation, the police would have their hands full keeping them safe and out of trouble while they watched to see if the incubus flashed his hand. “Jesus, I hate those guys.”

“Because they’re posers?”

She shrugged. “They don’t understand how dangerous the situation can get. They treat this like it’s some big adventure.”

“Who knows? Maybe they’re the real deal.”

She snorted and waved a hand. “And Santa Claus really does squeeze his fat ass down chimneys.”

“Bet all you ever got was a lump of coal. Anyone ever tell you that you have a bad attitude?”

She flashed him a grin and then began winding her way through the crowd toward the Reel PIs crew.

Clayton spotted her first and elbowed Booger, who bent to Mina’s ear.

She whipped her camera toward Cait.

“You’re the one who got electrocuted yesterday,” Mina said, peeking around her handheld unit and pushing her cat’s-eye glasses up her nose.

“I’m consulting with the police.”

“You a psychic detective?” the girl asked.

Cait flashed her a pained smile. “No, just a plain old PI.” She scowled at the camera before turning to Clayton. “We need to talk.”

Clayton straightened his shoulders, his demeanor changing instantly. His shoulders straightened, which pressed his large round belly forward. “I figured you might.”

“Follow me,” she said, crooking her finger. As soon as she turned her back, she rolled her eyes at Jason, who hid a smirk.

She led them back to the break room and closed the door. The film crew took seats in front of the metal table. With the sounds from the lobby muffled, she sat opposite them, blowing out a breath that billowed her cheeks. “I’m Cait O’Connell, and this is my partner, Jason Crawford. Folks, we could use your help.”

From his seat, Clayton narrowed his eyes. “If we agree to help, you gonna let us keep our recording?”

“Why?” Was this a break in the case? “Do you have anything?”

“Tons of orbs on the third floor.”

“Uh-huh.” Cait forced her expression to remain unchanged. “I’ll have Jason get with you to review the footage.”

Jason kicked her foot under the table.

She cleared her throat. “We want to set up surveillance on the third floor. Something that augments what the police are currently doing.”

Clayton glanced around at the rest of the crew before speaking. “Because they don’t have our specialized equipment and won’t know what to look for?”

She gave Clayton a grave nod. “That’s exactly it.”

His brown eyes narrowed. “Can we get access to room 323?”

Cait held her breath for a second, remembering the problem she’d had. If these guys were innocent of any wrongdoing, she couldn’t put their lives in danger like that. She shook her head. “Too dangerous. Look at what happened to me.”

“Then it wasn’t just bad wiring.” Clayton leaned toward Booger. “Told you the manager was full of it.”

Cait smiled. “Let’s set up the equipment to watch the third floor at the end of the hallway where 323 sits. We’ll monitor it remotely to keep everyone safe.”

“We can’t leave it unattended.” Clayton frowned. “Someone might walk away with our stuff. It’s expensive.”

“All the other guests on that floor are being moved. We can assign you a room on the third floor for you to set up and monitor your feeds, but far enough away so you won’t get tazed like I was. The PD is placing uniforms at the elevators and stairwells to control who enters. Sound satisfactory?”

Clayton glanced at Booger, who gave him a quick nod. Mina’s head jerked up and down like a bobble-head doll. Firming his lips, Clayton turned back to Cait. “We get to keep our footage, any readings we take.”

Pretending to give his request serious consideration, she took her time before she gave him a solemn nod. “We’ll make copies if we need them.”

Clayton leaned closer. “We get to interview the detective in charge.”

She nearly laughed. The thought of Sam being interviewed by a group of paranormal investigators, scowling and growling, was just too funny. “You can talk to me. Detective Pierce and I are working very closely on this one.”

Eyebrows raised, Clayton’s glance swept her. Booger’s did too. “She’s cute. Should look great on camera.”

Cait elbowed Jason because he was snickering beside her. Then she reached out a hand. “I think we have a deal.”

Clayton gave her hand a crushing squeeze. “Deal.”

“For now, stick around the lobby.” She circled her hand. “I’ll have to discuss this with the PD and get a room cleared out for you.”

“I really appreciate this opportunity to work with you, Ms. O’Connell.”

“Same here, Clayton. And everyone calls me Cait.”

As the trio trailed out of the room, already talking over each other with excitement, Cait turned in her chair. “Good Lord, what did we just get ourselves into?”

“Sounds like you’re gonna be on TV.” Jason’s grin was gleeful.

She huffed. “Those cranks will never sell it to the network.”

“They will if they actually film a ghost.” They shared worried glances.

A knock against the door frame sounded, and she glanced up to find Sam striding into the room.

“I saw the TV crew leaving.”

“They’re on board. I’ll need to coordinate access to a room on the third, away from the action, for their equipment. Once the dogs and sonar are gone, they’ll be setting up to watch tonight.”

“And your part in all this…? You have the ink?”

She patted the pocket of the thin black leather jacket she’d thrown on over yet another dark tank—her summer uniform because she was in the habit of not thinking about what she had to drag out of the closet first thing in the morning. Since she was staying in the hotel throughout the day and likely most of the night, she didn’t worry about the summer heat.

A squawk sounded from the radio Sam held in his hand. He listened for a moment, met her gaze, dipped his chin, and then turned on his heel to leave the room.

“We should roam a bit,” Jason said. “Take a look at everyone and make a list. Tick off their names as we go and exclude likely candidates.”

“I’ll leave that to you. I haven’t checked out the dining room or the bar. Might help to flash around Oscar’s photo and see if anyone saw who he’s been talking to.”

Together, they left the break room and reentered the hallway leading to the foyer. The crowd was less dense now.

The manager was standing in the center of the room and hurried over when he spotted them. He looked a little less harried than before. He wiped his damp forehead with a handkerchief before giving them a tired smile. “I’ve been moving guests out of the foyer so your people don’t have to wade through a crowd. Most are in the dining room. A few headed to the bar. I brought in more staff and offered guests half price off the menu and the booze for their inconvenience.” His fingers jerked the lapels of his jacket. “Do you have any idea how much longer this is going to take? I’ve already had half a dozen people ask for their money back and check out.”

“Shouldn’t take more than a few hours for the dogs to make their way through. Depends, I guess, on what they find. You’ve been here a while, Mr. Lewis?”

He nodded. “Started as a busboy in the restaurant when the hotel first opened.”

“Ever notice anything odd?”

“The Deluxe used to be a respectable place.” He shook his head, his faded blue eyes staring owlishly through his thick black frames. “Nice clientele. Pilots and stewardesses. Businessmen. But then more and more hotels sprung up, closer to the city center. Nicer. Now, it’s blue-collar workers and the usual one-nighters,” he said, giving her an apologetic smile. “We cut a break to keep some longtime residents filling the rooms.”

“We’ll need a list of those long-term guests.”

He gave her a small smile. “I’ll go put that together for you. Shouldn’t take me long.”

Cait smiled her thanks. As soon as he was out of earshot, she cut a glance at Jason.

“Yeah, adding him to the list too.” His chin dipped. “And any other older employees.”

Cait sighed. “We’re assuming the demon has kept the same persona all these years.”

“We have to start somewhere.”

They strode down another hallway to the dining room. A corkboard beside the entrance listed the limited menu and various event posters—the one for the AA meeting being prominent among the bunch.

After a quick scan, she wrinkled her nose at it and stuck her head into the room. Faded multicolored carpet in wine and green. Mismatched dark furniture. Framed prints that looked as dingy as the rest of the decor. Still, the food smelled good. Her stomach rumbled.

“Have you eaten?” Jason asked, as though reading her mind.

“I could do with a breakfast biscuit. Want to grab something for me while I check out the bar?”

His eyebrow rose, but he gave her a nod and headed toward the cashier’s desk.

Cait took a deep breath and turned on her heel. The bar was right next to the restaurant, and she wondered if the alcoholics stopped in for a quick drink after their meetings.

Inside, the bar was cozy, as it should be, with rich old leather booths, smooth, heavy wooden chairs. A large glass mirror at the back of the bar reflected the comfy golden glow of recessed lighting and highlighted the lovely hues of the bottles lined along two sturdy shelves in front of it.

“Thought I might find you here today.”

She jerked and glanced over her shoulder at Eddie Bradley, the EMT who’d transported her to the hospital the day before. “What are you doing here?”

His smile was warm. His gaze swept over her, lingering on her face. “Just curious. I’m off today. But I have an emergency bag in my car just in case. I got the impression yesterday that you’re accident-prone. The emergency staff at the hospital knows you by name.”

She gave him a steady look. “It’s kind of you to worry, Eddie, but as you’ve probably seen, we have tons of people on the premises.”

“Okay, you have me.” He lifted his hands. “I was hoping to see you. To make sure you were all right. You did leave before the doctors checked you out.”

“I’m right as rain.” She waved her hands down her front and held them at her sides.

“Yes, you are.”

His smile was slow, his sleepy eyes the kind that invited a woman’s confidence. A subtle come-on. Luckily, she was immune to his charm. “It’s a little early for me to buy you that drink.”

He flashed a sheepish grin. “That was just an excuse. And I’ll stay out of your hair. I just dropped by.”

“Yeah, to check on me.” She narrowed her eyes as she continued to study him. “You should probably know that drink won’t ever come. I’m a recovering alcoholic.”

“You attending meetings?”

“Haven’t found one yet,” she said, omitting the fact she hadn’t really been looking.

“I could introduce you to the guy who runs the meetings here. They meet tonight.”

“How convenient,” she muttered. “But I’ll be working.”

He shrugged and held out his hand. “Well, when you’re ready then.”

She gave him hers, a little reluctantly because he was a very yummy guy and his smile was killer. The moment their hands touched, she felt warmth flood her body, flush her cheeks. A moment passed before she pulled away and wiped her hand against the side of her jeans.

“Hope you find what you’re looking for, Caitlyn.”

She watched him move away and decided to add him to her list. Out of self-preservation, maybe, because her hand still tingled and her heart had sped up while he’d tried flirting. She had a man. A damn good one. One she meant to keep, although she suspected Eddie would be an easier partner, less in her face about her mistakes and weaknesses.

A comfortable kind of man to be with.

She shook her head. Yeah, Eddie Bradley was going to the top of the list of possible incubi for the simple fact she found him tempting.

By noon, four more female bodies had been found inside the third-floor walls.

All dried husks with missing organs. All doused in scented oils to cure and mask the odor of rotting flesh.

As they were all nude and no identifying items were found with them, Sam held out little hope they’d get IDs for weeks as they waited on DNA testing. If they or someone in their family were even in the system.

Darkness was falling as the last of the little army of crime scene techs finished up with the final rooms. Entering the room the Reel PIs crew had been assigned to set up their equipment, Sam found Cait, hands fisted on her hips. Besides Booger, Mina, and Clayton, another woman stood in the row with the wannabe film crew facing Cait.

At his approach, Cait glanced over her shoulder. “We have a psychic,” she said, her voice deadpanned.

Sam’s lips tightened in irritation. The investigation was already a circus.

“Madame Xavier is here to walk the hall and pick up any bad vibes.”

The portly woman straightened her shoulders and lifted her double chins. “I’m here to communicate with the dead.”

Cait rolled her eyes.

“She’s got loads of experience with police investigations,” Clayton said, his words tumbling in an excited rush. “We’re lucky she was free to help on such short notice.”

Cait’s thin smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, we’re so lucky,” she said, her tone remarkably even. “However, I would recommend you not enter the last hallway.”

“The point of conflux?” Madame Xavier nodded. “Being wary is wise when there’s the possibility of a demonic possession. So much more powerful than any ordinary ghost.”

Cait’s eyes widened.

The woman whose shoulders would have looked good on a linebacker returned Cait’s thin smile, a hint of challenge in her bright hazel gaze.

Cait returned her stare, then murmured, “Maybe we can use you after all.”

The woman nodded, her teased-high, carrot-red hair bouncing. “Perhaps we should talk privately.”

“Let me grab my handheld camera,” Mina said quickly.

Cait speared the younger woman with a glare. “Ground rules, Mina. When I need to talk to someone about confidential details of the investigation, you have to let us speak alone. I promise there will be plenty to film later.”

Mina’s lips pressed into a straight line. “Fine. We have to tune our equipment anyway.”

As Cait led the way, Sam stood aside. He gave Clayton a warning glare to stay in place and then followed the two women into the hallway.

Cait eyed the woman curiously. “You said demonic possession.”

The older woman gave a dramatic shiver. “I felt it. Smelled the vague scent of sulfur when I walked through the front door. Didn’t you?”

Cait didn’t seem surprised that the woman addressed her as an equal. “Not until I was poking my head into the wall where the first body was found.”

“I’ve had experience with spirits and demons. Not all the cases I help the police with have involved human monsters.” Madame Xavier’s gaze studied Cait, her eyes squinting a bit as she did so. “So many dark colors around you, dear.”

“You reading my aura?” Her body stiffened.

Sam pressed his lips together at the note of affront in Cait’s voice. She acted as though the woman had lifted her skirt to peek at her underwear.

The psychic’s expression softened. “You’re not very accepting of anything metaphysical, are you?”

“I’m not… I don’t have a problem…” She finished sputtering, then simply scowled. “No.”

“And yet you have powers I’d give anything to possess.” She raised a penciled eyebrow and stared as though trying to see inside Cait. “I’m just a psychic, not a witch.”

Cait’s face tightened. “I’m just a PI.”

“So you say. But so many violent colors surround you. Dull red and orange, edged with black. I’d worry more about your nature, but there is blue as well.” Her gaze narrowed. “You are searching for truths. Perhaps for answers?”

Cait shook her head. “All I want to know is who to pin the murders on. If you can help with that, I can handle the rest.”

“Unfortunately, my sight is rarely so clear.” A shoulder shrugged. “I can divine clues. Pick up on energies. But I can be useful.”

“What do you propose?”

“I must do a cleansing, then cloak myself and anyone else who accompanies me as I search the floor.”

“That would be me.”

Madame Xavier nodded, squinting again and training her gaze along the outer edges of Cait’s frame. “I sense you’ve already worked a little protective shield of your own. That’s good. What I will do won’t be nearly as powerful. There’s white light radiating through all your murky colors.”

Cait inhaled, and Sam sensed her impatience with the woo-woo language. Despite being the real deal, Cait preferred to keep things ordinary, tangible. Something he appreciated, because all this talk of auras and energies was still a little hard to swallow without his gut churning.

“The techs should be done shortly,” he said. “As soon as I sign off, we’ll have access to the halls.”

Just as the words were out of his mouth, a man wearing scrubs and paper booties approached with a clipboard. “Detective, we’ve got everything bagged and tagged. I just need a signature.”

Sam reached into a pocket of his jacket for a pen and signed off as the officer in charge of the crime scene.

“Have problems with your plumbing?” the tech asked.

Sam blinked then looked at his pen.

Cait smothered a smile, and raised a brow. He’d swiped her Nick the Plumber pen from her kitchen drawer.

“No, no plumbing problems. Good work.”

As the tech left, Sam glanced around. The Reel PIs crew was crowded together, looking out the doorway.

“We on?” asked Clayton.

Sam nodded. “You can set up the cameras and listening devices, but I’ll want you off the main floor and back in this room as soon as you’re done.”

The crew darted back into the room, their eager chatter growing loud.

Madame Xavier touched Cait’s arm. “I’ve already cleansed and sealed the room to the best of my limited abilities. I sensed nothing dark there.”

“Good,” Cait said, her smile unfeigned this time. “I’ll leave you with Sam,” she said, eyeing him.

He gave a quick nod, thinking his reputation would be in shreds the moment the rest of his team heard about this surveillance. But somehow, he was relieved Cait wouldn’t be without some backup, however inept.

Cait angled her body toward his and glanced up. “I have something I have to attend to. But I’ll be back shortly.”

Sam pulled her a few feet away. “Gonna work that spell?” he asked, dropping his voice.

She gave him a wink. “Yeah, it’s time to see if Sylvia has anything to say.”

11

Jason and Cait sat at a table in the bar, bent over a napkin. The lighting was poor, and her chicken scratch didn’t make it any easier to read the words she’d scribbled.

“I need something that rhymes with peek,” she muttered.

“Seek?”

“Oh, that’s good.” She scratched a couple more lines before pushing the napkin across the table. “What do you think?”

Jason held it to the light to read the spell she’d worked on and then lifted his face to give her a dubious smile.

Cait frowned, blushing, because she knew she sucked at poetry. “The Powers know not to expect anything fancy from me,” she said defensively.

“Maybe they’ve got a sense of humor,” he said, sliding it back.

Cait wadded the napkin in her hand and shook it. “This will just have to do. I’ve already wasted half an hour. There’s no telling what kind of trouble those Reel PIs have gotten into.”

They took the elevator. Cait kept her gaze fixed on the digital readout. The elevator was old and slow and tended to shake a bit as it rose.

When they reached the third floor, Cait flipped the stop switch and waited to see if an alarm rang. When it didn’t, she glanced at Jason. “Good a place as any. Private.” She reached into her pocket and removed the vial of butterfly blood ink, shook it, and then pointed at his chest and twirled her finger.

Making a face, Jason turned and hunched over.

She set the napkin against him, uncorked the bottle, and pulled out a quill.

“That gonna bleed through my shirt?”

“Probably.”

“Great. Just what I need.”

“All right,” she muttered. “I’ll use the floor.”

Jason straightened and stood back as she knelt and bent over the napkin. As soon as she dipped the quill in the ink and began to write, the paper soaked up the first letter, forming an illegible blob. So she copied the rest of the words in large block letters to the side of the spell she’d written in plain ink.

When she was done, she straightened, held out the paper, and took a deep breath. “Ready for this?” she asked, looking at Jason for moral support.

“Am I going to see anything?” He held his body stiffly.

“Not likely.”

“You’re the witch. Go for it.”

A pounding sounded on the elevator door. “Anyone in there?”

She aimed a glance at Jason for him to handle it while she closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind.

“No problems here,” he shouted, his words echoing loudly against the metal walls. “We’ll be out in a minute.”

“Get a damn room!”

Cait closed her eyes and evened out her breaths. She tried to imagine a riverbank with clear blue water. Sunlight filtering through shade trees. When she had the image locked in her mind, she felt calm envelop her, her thoughts narrowing, all the noise and hurry drifting away.

In a moment of quiet, she opened her eyes and read from the napkin.

“Spirits guide me, lift the veil.

No harm or greed do I entail.”

She heard a groan, but ignored it.

“Let me take a tiny peek

And find the spirit that I seek:

Sylvia Reyes.”

She bit her lip. “Think that did it?”

“That took you half an hour?”

The lights in the elevator dimmed for a long moment before flickering back on.

A silvery outline of a woman filled in slowly, like ink spilled into a glass. An echo of a scream started faintly, then grew and grew. Color exploded through the figure: bottle-blonde hair, red Sharpie-outlined lips and thick dark mascara, a shimmery, too-tight top and much-too-short-for-church skirt. Hot pink heels.

“Holy sheet!” Sylvia Reyes’s hands patted her abdomen, and then she bent over to look at her belly before at last darting a glance up at Cait. “Lady, what the hell did joo do?”

“Did it work?” Jason whispered beside her.

Cait didn’t take her gaze off the apparition glaring daggers her way. “She’s arrived, all right. Sylvia, I’m Cait. This is Jason. He can’t see you.”

“You some kinda spirit guide come to tell me joo made a mistake?” Her thick Spanish accent clicked like castanets. Her words were bold, but there was real fear in her eyes.

“A mistake?”

“Joo gonna take me down there?” she asked, her nasal tones pinched.

“Are you talking about Hell? Were you in Heaven?”

Sylvia lifted her shoulders. “I don’ know. It was nice. Like mi abuela’s house in Meh-hee-ko.” She aimed a leery glance around the elevator car. “Uh-oh. I know what thees place is.”

“You’re not in Hell,” Cait rushed to reassure her, “but I did bring you back to where you were murdered.”

“Joo some mean bitch.” She jerked her head. “Thees the las’ place I wanna be. Crazy sheet happened here.”

Cait offered an apologetic smile. “We know. And it’s going to keep happening unless I can find a way to stop it. That’s why I need you.”

“Joo don’ understand.” Her hands clenched. “He ain’t human.”

“Believe me, Sylvia, I’m well aware of that fact.”

“Send me back,” the woman said, stomping one pink stiletto.

“I will,” Cait said, ignoring Jason’s raised eyebrows. “As soon as we have what we need. And as soon as I figure out how to do that,” she added under her breath.

“What?” Sylvia’s dark eyebrows drew together in a ferocious frown. “Joo brought me here and joo don’ know how to send me back?”

Cait winced at the woman’s shout. “I wasn’t a hundred percent sure this spell would even work,” she said, holding up the napkin, “but if I can summon you, surely I can put you back.”

Sylvia huffed and folded her arms over her bosomy chest. “I gotta bad feeling about joo, mija. Some bruja joo are.”

As she blew out a deep breath, Cait’s cheeks billowed. “Just stay close. The guy you were coming to meet, can you tell me anything about him?”

Sylvia’s dark gaze slid sideways to Cait. “Joo know about him?”

“Oscar told us everything.”

“Oscar! Pfft! Why I ever married him, I don’ know. Man liked to use his fists to ween arguments.”

“The police are wondering if maybe he was in cahoots with your lover boy.”

“No es posible. Eduardo is everything that slimy toad eez not. Kind, romantic—did joo know he called me his mariposa—”

“Rubia, I know. I get it. He was a doll. But he might also have been an incubus.”

At Sylvia’s blank stare, Cait shrugged. “Another kind of demon. A seducer.”

“Mija, now that I can believe.” She sighed. “He was more handsome than Antonio Banderas.”

“Antonio?” Cait asked, wondering if there was another boyfriend lurking around.

“Banderas—joo know. Zorro! So handsome he took away my breat’. And so kind…” Her eyelids dipped dreamily.

Cait couldn’t recall anyone among the guests who resembled the actor. “She says her boyfriend looked like Antonio Banderas.”

“A shape-shifting incubus?” Jason murmured.

Cait pursed her lips. “Well, hell. Then that would mean he could be anyone.” She sucked in a deep breath, shaking her head as she realized the creature’s true nature. “He changes appearance, even demeanor, according to a woman’s fantasies. That’s how he plays them.” Her heart thudded sickeningly against her chest. “Fuck, that’s how he played me!”

“What?” Jason’s gaze sharpened and he edged closer. “Sam know about this?”

“Nothing happened. It was just… flirting. Sort of.” Her body stilled. “Fuck. If he knows I’m on to him, I wonder if he can change his appearance again to hide.”

“Joo know Eduardo?” Sylvia asked, excitement quickening her already rapid-fire words. “We gonna see him? If he was in cahoots with Oscar, I got some t’ings to say to him.”

Cait reached out to hit the switch. The doors slid open onto a dark hallway. “Jesus, what the fuck now?” She peeked outside the car. Red beams of light pierced the darkness up and down the hallway. She released a relieved breath and stepped out. “Flashlights.”

“The power’s out?” Jason whispered, as he joined her in the hallway.

“I see a spirit!” Madame Xavier’s voice echoed in the darkness. “Her essence is bright, luminous. She’s right beside you, Cait.”

Cait was instantly glad for the darkness because she rolled her eyes. “Sam?” she called.

“Right behind Madame,” he said, irritation deepening his voice. “I see you had some success.”

Cait made a face as he shone the light at her. “A lot of good it’s gonna do.”

“I don’ like thees,” Sylvia hissed with a shake of her head.

“You don’t have a thing to worry about,” Cait whispered out of the side of her mouth. “You don’t have anything any demon here wants.”

“Got more than joo do, chica,” she said, lifting her heavy breasts with her hands and pressing them together.

Glad for once that no one else could hear or see what Sylvia did, Cait moved forward, meeting Sam in the middle of the corridor.

He lifted her hand and slapped a flashlight against her palm. “Clayton insisted,” he said, his voice growling with irritation. “They’re using infrared.”

“Super,” she murmured. “Which means we’re left in the dark.”

“You’re the one who thought this was a good idea.”

Mina rushed forward. “I see a large smudge, roundish, next to Cait.” Her voice was tight with excitement.

“I not round,” Sylvia grumbled.

“Round is a shape,” Cait quipped.

Cait aimed her flashlight past Mina, in the direction of the hallway where the bodies were found. “Sparky hasn’t joined us yet?”

“Not a peep,” Sam muttered. “Beginning to think this might be a bust.”

A shadow ducked from around the corner of the possessed hall, and then back.

“You see that?” Cait asked, pointing. “Somebody else is up here.”

“We sure about that?” Sam asked, then raised his voice to shout, “Booger, Clayton!”

“We’re watching the feed,” came a muffled response. “We’ve already got some great stuff. Orbs, that round smudge Madame Xavier saw.”

“I not round.”

Cait scowled. “Shush, the only one who can hear you is me.”

“Huh. How nice for joo. See how joo like bein’ ignored. La cucaracha, la cucaracha, ya no puede—”

“Seriously, you’re gonna sing that?”

“I’m a Mexican woman, not Patrick Swayze. Ya no puede caminar—”

“Sylvia, this is not the place!” Cait hissed.

“I’m scared.” She shook her head, blonde hair flipping from cheek to cheek. “Somet’ing don’ feel right.”

“You feel?”

“O’ course. I feel the floor beneat’ my feet ot’erwise I’d be falling t’rough it.”

“Can you feel me?”

Sylvia moved to touch her arm, but her fingers slipped right through her.

“That tickled.”

“I didn’t touch you,” Jason said beside her.

“Wasn’t talking to you.” Cait shot a glare to the side.

“She still there?”

“Sharpie-outlined lips and all.”

Sylvia huffed again. “Stays on longer than lipstick. No matter how much thees lips get kissed.”

“I’ll say,” Cait drawled. “And TMI, by the way.”

From farther down the hall, Madame Xavier fluttered her fingers. “I’ve never seen a spirit that dense or large.”

“She callin’ me fat? She’s got two cheens.”

Cait bit back a laugh. “You’re growing on me, Syl.”

She glanced back down the hall.

Madame Xavier had moved farther away. Her head cocked toward the forbidden hallway. She took several timid steps forward.

Oh no! Cait’s eyes widened, she began to run. Thirty feet separated them. She’d never reach the woman in time. “Madame Xavier, come back!”

“I told her not to go within twenty feet of that hall,” Sam said, his feet stomping beside her.

A pop sounded, and then a bright light shone from the hall. Standing in profile, Madame Xavier craned her neck to stare down the hallway, her gaze snagging on something, her eyes growing round.

“Sam, it’s charging up!” They were ten feet away, but Cait knew they weren’t going to make it.

“Oh my Lord,” the large redheadeded psychic said before a blinding arc darted outward, striking her wrist and then pulling upward like a whip.

Her arm jerked up, and she screamed.

She and Sam raced the last few feet but were too late. The arc whipped again and pulled Madame Xavier off her feet and out of sight, her scream halting abruptly. Another, fainter flash lit the hall.

If Cait had blinked she wouldn’t have seen them. Five nearly transparent spirits, faces locked in horror, Madame Xavier’s among them.

“Ohmygod… ohmygod.” Clayton fell to his knees and dragged in a deep, wheezing breath. “Mina, tell me you got that!”

“What a prince,” Syl whispered, her face ashen, even for a ghost.

The overhead lights flickered on.

Cait blinked then swung her head, finding Sam’s position before she could let loose the panic gripping her chest and manage to form a thought. Because for a second, her mind had frozen with fear.

“Madame looked thinner,” Sylvia said, her eyes tearing up.

Aiming a quelling glare at Sylvia, Cait edged toward Sam as he darted a glance around the corner. His shoulders dropped. “Nothing. Goddammit.”

“She’ll be famous.”

They both turned their heads to stare at Clayton, who’d snuck up behind Cait.

The large man’s face was ghostly pale, his eyes a little wild. “I know it’s sad, but she was well aware of the danger.”

Sam gripped the neck of Clayton’s T-shirt and backed him up against the opposite wall. “Did you talk her into going there?”

Clayton’s mouth opened and closed like a widemouthed bass. “She said she’d never seen anything like this place before. It’s what she wanted. To look beyond the veil, she said.”

Sam gave him a little shake, then loosened his grip. “I seriously doubt she intended to commit suicide,” he said, raking a hand through his hair and glaring.

“No, she thought perhaps she could communicate through it.”

Sam gave him one more disgusted stare, and then swept everyone gathered in the hallway. “That’s it. Everyone back. You,” he said, pointing at Clayton. “Get back into your room and close the fucking door. If anyone pops a nose outside, I’ll shoot it off.”

As the Reel PIs crew ambled back into their room, soft sobs sounded beside Cait. Glancing sideways, she saw rivulets of black mascaraed tears running down Sylvia’s face.

Sylvia scrubbed her tears with the back of her hand. “I know how scared she musta been. One minute joo knockin’ on Romeo’s door, and the next joo flyin’ through the air.” She rubbed a hand over her ass. “The landing really hurts.”

Cait shook her head to clear the sluggishness that followed an adrenaline buzz. “The landing. Where does that happen?”

“Inside a wall, then onto a floor. The wall opens up like a great big black mouth and takes you.”

Cait shivered. “Jesus, Syl. This can’t happen again. We have to find the incubus and somehow force him to finger his boss.”

When she glanced back at Sam, she spotted him staring, his face as dark as a storm cloud, hands on his hips. “Sylvia give you a description?” he asked, his voice dead even.

“It’s not very helpful. Eduardo looked like her favorite celebrity crush, Antonio Banderas.”

“I didn’t see anyone who looked like that during the questioning.”

Cait screwed up her face in a grimace, knowing Sam wasn’t going to like hearing this. “That’s because he looks like Eddie Bradley now.” She closed her lips and waited for him to process.

Sam’s eyes blinked once in confusion, then narrowed. “The EMT? How do you know?” His shoulders bunched.

“He flirted with me.”

Sam’s gaze hardened further as he stepped closer, towering over her. “You never mentioned it.”

His voice was so calm she knew he was getting madder by the second.

Cait ducked her head and rubbed a toe on the ugly carpet. Anything but meet his glance. “I didn’t think it was important.” From beneath her eyelashes, she watched his chest rise around a swift intake of breath.

“Dammit, Cait. That’s not for you to decide.”

Cait jerked up her chin. “How was I supposed to know his interest was in any way related to this?”

“He flirted with you. He knew you were with me. What the hell kind of human guy flirts with a death wish?”

Cait couldn’t help the flush of warmth that settled low in her belly. The man said the sexiest things all by accident. Another flush heated her cheeks. Now was not the time to notice something like that. A woman had just died.

Sam shook his head, likely reading everything she’d just thought.

“Mija, he jours?” Sylvia asked, stepping so close they could have bumped shoulders if Sylvia wasn’t a shade. The woman’s sideways glance at her looked unimpressed as it slid up and down her body. “No accountin’ for taste.”

Jason walked past them. “Just have to make sure.” He flipped open the door to room 323 and disappeared inside.

A moment later he returned, nodding to Sam, and then giving Cait a weary look. “Since you’re the brainchild here, you figure out how we’re gonna tell Leland there’s another body in the wall.”

12

Leland didn’t say a word as he paced the floor of the hallway in front of Cait, Sam, and Jason. Every now and then, he’d pause beside her and raise his head, his mouth opening. Then it shut again and he growled, continuing to beat the carpet with his stomping feet.

“Nothing blew up,” she muttered.

He aimed a glare at her, then lifted a finger and shook it. “Another death. With you and one of my officers standing right there. How the hell are we gonna explain that the hell away?” He shoved a hand upward in an arc. “Goddamn it to hell, Cait.”

Her gaze dropped to her feet, and she scuffed her boots together, waiting for the storm to pass. “We do have a lead now.”

His gaze whipped back to her. “Gimme a name. I’ll have him hauled in for questioning.”

“Might be harder than finding Oscar Reyes.” Cait’s shoulder lifted and dropped. “Dude’s an incubus.”

His eyes squinted so hard, they nearly disappeared. His skin turned a frightening purplish red. “What the fuck is an incubus?”

“A seducer. He feeds on human pleasure and pain. They can be deadly if they take it too far.”

Sam cussed under his breath.

Cait lifted her chin. “Leland, it’s not like we have a playbook or a protocol to handle something like this. This is a demonic possession. Two demons are at work here.”

Leland paced and then spun, an arm flung outward. “I’m shuttin’ down the hotel.”

Cait fought to keep equal heat out of her voice. Arguing with Leland only made him more stubborn. “If you do, we might not find the incubus. He’ll be in the wind. But shutting down this floor to everyone except us is probably a good idea.”

For a long moment, Leland’s glance rested on her. His mouth worked like he was chewing his tongue. “I want that TV crew outta here and all their film confiscated.”

“We promised they could keep it.” An admission she wished she didn’t have to make.

“They can have it back after the investigation is closed, which by the looks of things may be never.”

“They’re the technical experts. They’re probably already cleaning up footage that will give us a clue as to what happened.”

Leland scrubbed a hand over his face. “Christ, how do I keep those morons from blabbing to the world?”

“Who’s gonna believe them? Look, you can hold them here for a while without filing charges.” She pointed at the hallway floor. “We do have a missing woman. The fact we have her body won’t be confirmed for a while.”

“I’ll post uniforms on the stairwell doors and at the elevators. No one approaches the room after the body is hauled out. Sure it’s safe for our folks to go back in?”

Cait glanced away, thinking. “He put on quite a light show. A huge expenditure of energy. Plus none of the techs have been attacked so far. I think he only reacts when he feels threatened.”

The redness in Leland’s cheeks receded. “Cait, do you really think you can defeat this thing?”

Cait swallowed hard and felt a pinch deep in her chest. “How do you feel about burning down a hotel?”

His eyes nearly crossed. “You gotta be kidding me.”

She lifted her shoulders. “I have it on good authority it’s the only way to kill the demon in the walls.”

“Can’t exorcise his ass?” he asked, his voice rising again right along with his eyebrows.

“Want to risk him moving elsewhere to continue to kill?”

“That would be someone else’s problem,” he shouted.

She jerked her head back. “I’ll make sure that’s a last resort.”

He opened his mouth to speak again but sputtered. He clamped his jaws shut and pointed a finger at her. “Goddammit” was the most he could muster as his face twitched.

“I get it. This is all my fault.” She paused and put the calmest tone on her next words. “But you know it really isn’t.”

“If you weren’t here, we’d have found a frickin’ body and stuck the file in a cold-case box.”

“Think not knowing is better? Or someone else dying?”

“I think I need a drink. You make my teeth hurt.”

She cast her gaze down to avoid his continued stare. Better to keep her mouth shut too, or he might bust a blood vessel. He was so angry. She’d always had that effect on him, and she wasn’t sure why.

He’d known her dad and her mother. He’d respected Paddy O’Connell but didn’t have a great opinion of her mom. When Cait had worked under Leland, he’d given her a grudging benefit of the doubt that she’d turn out more like Paddy—a damn good cop without a shadow following him around. That hadn’t lasted long. Even when she wasn’t working full-moon cases, she’d managed to piss him off at every turn. Said it was on account of her mouthiness.

Leland grunted. “Sam, walk with me.” The two men wandered down the hall and then stopped for Leland to whisper harshly, veins popping at his temples while he pointed at her with stabbing moves.

She felt sorry for her ex.

“That went well,” Jason drawled.

She gave Jason a stony stare.

“We’re still working the case. We still have access to this floor.”

“Only because he knows his detectives aren’t safe here. He’s much more willing for us to get sucked into a wall.”

Jason gave her a small smile. “So, what do you think we should do next?”

What she wanted to do next was get the hell away from this floor for a while. She checked her watch. Almost nine p.m. “I need to attend an AA meeting.”

“Seriously? Now?” Jason stiffened. “I’m sure Sam would be happy as a clam, but… now?”

“There’s one happening in the dining room in a few minutes. Eddie Bradley mentioned he knew the guy who runs it. Maybe he knows Eddie well enough to tell us where we might find him.”

Jason shook his head. “Eddie has to know it’s dodgy, that you might be on to him. Think approaching him on our own is safe?”

“Well, I’m not telling Sam.” She eyed Leland and Sam one more time, then set off for the elevators.

Jason let loose a long breath as he matched her stride. “This dude can be killed?”

“By any ordinary means. His shell is human. That doesn’t mean he won’t be hard to take down.”

“If he’s around here.”

“Oh, I think he will be. He’s arrogant. Thinks we’re too stupid to figure it out.” Reaching the elevators, she punched the button, then glanced back down the hall at Sam. He was still with Leland, but his sharp-featured face was turned toward her.

She gave him a little wave.

Jason glanced back too. “Cait, do you want this dude to be a demon because you like him?”

“I don’t need a new boyfriend.” Cait scowled. “I’m trying to hang on to the one I have.”

“Yeah, training us is so darn time-consuming,” he said, flashing a quick grin.

She studied him. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“You’re asking me about my personal life?”

She blushed. “I’m sorry. You know every pitiful fact about mine. I don’t know why I haven’t asked.”

Jason, his hands stuffed in his pockets, lifted his shoulders. “Up until a couple of months ago, you weren’t sober enough to hold a conversation and then remember it. Lately, you’ve had a lot on your plate. Everything’s changing. I don’t think you’re self-absorbed, if that’s what worries you.” He smiled. “Tell you what, when this thing’s over, I’ll tell you all my dating woes.”

She grinned, then snuck a glance down the hall. Leland was still on his tirade, no doubt reading Sam the riot act and warning him not to give her an inch of rope he couldn’t yank. Sam’s face was red too, but his gaze was on her.

“Let’s head on down to the meeting,” she said. “We’ll catch up with him later.” And he’d have a chance to cool off before he approached her again. Sam didn’t like being laid into like he was a rookie. He’d been a Marine and was a decorated cop. She hated that she still affected his work relationships, although they weren’t even married and she wasn’t on the force any longer. He must think she was nothing but bad luck.

She mouthed, I’m sorry, then turned away at the elevator’s arrival.

The trip to the first floor passed in total silence. A miracle, given Sylvia slipped in with them at the last moment. The main-floor foyer was empty. The clerk behind the registration desk dozed in his chair.

When they passed the bar, a TV blared, but a quick glance inside revealed very few patrons, all sitting at the bar watching some game on the widescreen.

With reluctance slowing her steps, Cait led the way into the dining room. Ten rows of mismatched chairs faced a dais. A table to the side was draped with a white linen cloth and held a coffee urn and mugs and boxes of store-bought cookies. There was no sign of Eddie Bradley.

The meeting was set to start in a few minutes, but several people milled in the area in front of the chairs, chatting. She wondered if the turnout was always this good or whether curiosity had drawn them all. She hadn’t had time to watch the news, but word had to be spreading about the goings-on at the Deluxe.

A tall, thin man with shaggy brown hair and a long-sleeved dress shirt rolled up to his elbows detached himself from the group and approached them. He held out his hand to Cait. “I’m Larry,” he said, his voice an even-timbred tenor. “Nice to meet you folks.”

Cait shook his hand, but he kept right on holding it. “I’m Cait. This is Jason. He’s with me, but he’s not a drunk.”

Larry’s eyebrows shot up. “We don’t refer to ourselves as drunks, Cait,” he chided gently. “We’re all recovering alcoholics in different stages of sobriety. We’ve all been where you are. A little bitter, maybe grudging about being here, right?”

She frowned and wiggled her fingers. At last, he released her hand, and she fought the urge to wipe it on the side of her jeans.

“It’s okay to feel uncomfortable. You might at first, but we’re all on this journey together.”

“Do I have to sign up or something?” she said, her voice sounding a little gruff to her own ears. But just being here, even if she wasn’t really here for the meeting, irritated her.

“This meeting is anonymous. We don’t have a sign-in register. The only requirement to be a member is a desire to stop drinking. Would you like to join us?”

“I was thinking a friend of mine might be here, Eddie Bradley. Have you seen him?”

At his blank stare, she added, “He’s an EMT with the fire department.”

His expression brightened. “Ah, Eddie. He has stopped in a couple of times. Drinks the coffee and listens. He referred you?”

“Yes, but seeing as he’s not here…”

“Why not stay a little while? The meeting doesn’t usually last long. He might still show.”

When he turned and moved across the room, she followed for a few steps and slid into the last row. Jason sat beside her.

“Wonder if Eddie looks the same to him,” Jason whispered.

“Notice I didn’t describe him.”

Larry, standing at the front, rapped a spoon against a glass. “If we’ll all take our seats, we can get started. Welcome, everyone. Looks like we have a full house tonight. And we have a couple of guests.”

Everyone turned to eye her and Jason. Cait slid deeper into her chair. “He might not come,” she said out of the side of her mouth. Maybe when everyone looked the other way she might slip out the door.

“Do you have anything better to do?” Jason whispered, hardly moving his lips. “Sam’s probably still upstairs getting his ass reamed. And then he’ll have to wait for a team to come out and take the body. Really want to be in the middle of all that?”

Someone sitting in front of them cleared his throat. Jason elbowed Cait and drew a zipper being closed across his mouth.

Cait sighed and slouched lower. Could the evening get any worse?

“Hi, my name’s Dave,” a heavyset middle-aged man said after walking to the front to face the group.

“Hi, Dave,” the group responded in unison.

Cait mumbled like she used to, sitting at Mass beside her father when she’d forgotten the liturgy.

“I’ve been sober for ten years now.”

After Dave launched into a long-assed story about how his addictions to hookers and buying lottery cards led him to drink, Cait turned toward Jason. “This will never be my thing. All this sharing.”

“Shhh,” Jason said. “I wanna hear about the hookers.”

“You would.”

She stared at Dave, then glanced around the room as he droned on, making up stories in her mind about the others who were listening so intently to every word Dave spoke.

“Does anyone else have something they’d like to share?” Larry asked, his gaze scanning the crowd.

The murmur of voices had died down without her realizing it.

“Cait, would you like to tell us something about yourself?” Larry asked, his gaze pinning her.

Her eyes widened. “I thought I could just listen this first time,” she said as everyone turned in their seats to stare.

“And you can. But if you’d like to share, we’re all here to listen.”

With embarrassment stinging her cheeks, she rose. “Hi, I’m Cait,” she said with a little wave.

“Hi, Cait.”

Good Lord, they sounded like Moonies. “I haven’t had a drink for forty-seven days.” Ready to plop back into her chair, she saw Larry’s encouraging nod and gave an inward groan. “I like scotch. It quiets the voices.”

“Yeah, that’s just where I thought you’d start,” Jason muttered beside her.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Eddie Bradley. He leaned against the doorway, arms folded over his chest, smiling in her direction.

“Um, it’s been a great meeting,” she said, edging out of the row. “I’ll think about coming back, but I have to go.”

Larry stood. “We’ll be here for you, Cait.”

“Thanks.” She gave them a tight smile and wave, and then bent to Jason. “Showtime. Hang back. You too, Syl,” she said, glancing at the chair beside Jason and smiling when Jason automatically jerked away.

Keeping her steps unhurried, she strode toward the incubus. Or at least she hoped like hell he was, because his smile was all kinds of wrong. Intimate, proud of her, softly supportive.

Her heart beat like a drum as she forced her own smile. “Hi there. I wasn’t expecting you to be here,” she lied.

“Told you I’d introduce you around. Larry and I know each other.”

“So he said,” she murmured, following him into the hallway.

“I see things have quieted down,” he said with a nod toward the foyer.

“Yeah, everyone’s pretty much cleared out. Guests are back in their rooms—those who decided to stay, that is.”

“No more excitement.”

Considering how best to bait the trap, she paused. “We had another incident. Just a little while ago. It rattled me.”

“You seem to be taking it all in stride. Want to tell me about it?”

“Want that drink?”

His gaze went beyond her. “Want to invite your friend too? He seems to be giving me the eagle eye.”

“No.” She shook her head. “He’s my partner. And we’re off-duty right now. He can find his own company to keep.”

Eddie jerked his chin to the side. “Want to head into the bar?”

She pretended to think about that for a moment, and then offered him a sheepish smile. “Right. I just walked out of an AA meeting. I don’t think Larry would think very highly of you if that’s where we go. Besides, I really should head back up to the third floor.”

Eddie’s smile slipped, and he sighed. “Doesn’t seem like we’re ever going to have time to get to know each other.”

His seemingly guileless gaze stroked over her, touching on her face, the curves of her figure. That odd warmth she’d come to recognize as something special about him infused her. She leaned toward him and glanced up from beneath her lashes. “Keep me company on the way up?”

His lids fell halfway. His nostrils flared. “Sure. Lead the way, Cait.”

She laughed. “I can’t talk to you if you’re behind me.” She slid her hand into the curve of his elbow. Together they set off.

“So, do you like what you do? Being a PI?”

Uh-oh. “How did you know that’s what I am? Have you been checking up on me?”

“I asked around. You and your partner run the Delta Detective Agency. Get any interesting cases?”

She made a face. “Mostly watching cheating spouses. The occasional missing person case. Believe me, it sounds more exciting than the work actually is.”

“Seemed plenty of exciting this morning. What exactly happened?”

At the end of the hall, they turned toward the elevators. “A woman I was following disappeared last night. The police wanted to ask me about what I knew. The officer in charge was on the third floor where her body was found. I guess I must have touched a light switch, and I got shocked. That must be something you see a lot,” she said, angling her head forward so she could watch his face.

“I’ve never responded to a call like that. Downed power lines, a husband deciding he can mess with his own junction box and getting his wires crossed, but you’re a new experience for me.”

She met his gaze, and for a split second, his eyes seemed to glow. She blinked and laughed, knowing she sounded nervous. Maybe he’d attribute it to the fact she was trying to flirt and wasn’t very good at it.

“Will your boyfriend be up there?” he asked as he touched the button for the elevator.

“He’s not my boyfriend. Sam’s my ex-husband. We’ve been divorced for a while now.”

“Still seems pretty protective.”

“Still thinks he owns my ass,” she grumbled.

His smile stretched. “You like playing with fire,” he said, his voice dipping intimately low.

Cait fiddled with a strand of her hair, one knee wagging in front of the other as she held his steady stare. “I’m not that brave. Not really. Not like you,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound like she was gushing too much. “Bet you’ve been in some real hot spots.” The doors opened and they stepped inside.

The trip up to the third floor seemed to take forever, stretching her nerves to the point of snapping. She stood beside an incubus. A powerful creature, or so Morin had warned. She’d only faced one demon before, but she’d been armed with a bellows and had two strong men backing her up.

Alone, and with Eddie Bradley inching closer, her mind went blank.

“Your hair still smells like it’s burning.”

Cait wrinkled her nose. “You sure know how to butter up a girl.”

“I have my ways.” He chuckled, the sound not the least sinister.

She wondered if he was laughing at her attempt to flirt. The doors slid open, and she started to step out.

He didn’t follow. Just lifted a brow and hit the button to reclose the doors.

A chill spilled down her spine. She almost had him where she wanted him, but how to convince him she really did want to get him alone? “I won’t be a minute. We can check in, then go find that drink.”

“Cait,” he said, his expression amused. “Do you really think I’m that stupid?” He tugged her back inside and hit the down button. When the car began its descent, he flipped the stop switch. “That’s better. We’re alone now.”

Her heart pounded. This was not what she’d planned. “What did you mean about me thinking you’re stupid?”

He turned toward her, then took a quick step forward, his body trapping her against the back of the car. He bent his head and nuzzled her ear. “Think I’m going anywhere near Sam Pierce now that he knows what I am?”

“What you are?” she asked, knowing he had to have felt her quiver that time.

His smile widened. “You really are cute. Especially when you drop the sexy act. I like you. I find that whole witch vibe extremely arousing.”

Her jaw sagged. “What did you say?” Lips brushed her neck, raising gooseflesh. She inserted her hands between their chests, intending to push him away, but his next kiss touched her carotid, which set her pulse racing. And not out of fear. Every bone and muscle in her body began to melt. The feel of his large, masculine body pressed against her, the rich manly smell of him—her knees felt weak.

“I’d like to do so many things to your body,” he whispered. “Give you the kind of pleasure only someone like me can provide. We’d be so good together.”

Heat blazed inside her, made her wet, the sudden intensity taking her breath. “Stop that,” she said, but turned her head to give him better access to her ear, which he nipped.

“That’s only a tease. Just a little taste. Come with me,” he said, pulling away and extending his hand. “No lasting harm will come to you, I promise. I’ll be gentle. I can be rough. Whatever you desire.”

Staring at his face, she could see how perfect a predator this handsome creature really was. She shook her head. “So you can leave me weak? Ready to turn over to your master?”

His eyelids flickered.

Good. She’d shocked him. He hadn’t realized she’d made the connection.

“Will you come with me or not?”

“Why are you even offering me a choice? Isn’t it your MO to simply take?”

“Like I said, I don’t want you left a wizened husk. I could drink you down for a lifetime and never get my fill,” he said, his expression filled with yearning. “You’re so much more than simply human. An elixir to someone like me. Come along, Cait.”

She squeezed her thighs together.

“That’s Eddie?” Syl stood beside her.

“Uh-huh,” Cait said, working up the gumption to drag away her hand.

“I liked him much better when he looked like Antonio. But that’s how he talks. All that talk about drinkin’. Thought he was talkin’ about somet’ing a whole lot sexier.”

“Sylvia, not now.”

His gaze sharpened and scanned the elevator car. “My little mariposa’s here?” He grinned. “Is she angry?”

Sylvia erupted in a blistering string of Spanish curses.

“She’s, um, disappointed you don’t look like Antonio Banderas.”

He tsked. “Better than, wasn’t that right, mi enamorada?”

Sylvia’s fingers curled into talons and she struck out, her hand passing right through him. “Joo… joo lyin’ sack o’ sheet.”

“She’s not feelin’ it, Eddie.”

The lights flickered above them. The elevator jerked.

Eddie’s head turned to the side.

“What’s happening?” Cait asked.

“It’s him,” he said, his expression tightening. “We have to get out of here.”

He flicked the switch again. The elevator dropped, skidding down at frightening speed, then it jerked again, stopped, and hurtled upward. Back at the third floor, the doors retracted, too fast for the proper mechanism to be controlling them.

Hand braced against the wall, Cait glanced over Eddie’s shoulder, and her eyes widened. Behind him, the foiled paisley wallpaper gleamed. “What the fuck, Eddie?”

He glanced over his shoulder and then stepped back. “Looks like I’ll be seeing you again much later, sweetheart.”

The doors popped closed and the elevator resumed its downward descent, only this time accompanied by its usual hum and at a pace that didn’t drop her stomach to the floor. When the digital readout read “1,” the doors parted. The shitty foyer was in front of her, and she leapt out.

“Cait!”

The stairwell door slammed behind Sam as he ran toward her.

Her knees weakened, but he reached her, pulling her against his chest. “What the hell were you doing with that bastard?”

13

Cait burrowed her face against his chest, her hands clutching his shirt until the shivering stopped.

He didn’t say a single word more while he rocked her inside his arms.

“I see why joo love him.”

Sylvia’s envious tone made her smile. “He’s a brick, isn’t he?”

Sam grunted, his chest bumping against hers.

She tightened her fingers on his chest. “Christ, for a second, I thought I was back there. In the eighties. That the next time I saw you, I’d be too old for you to hold me like this without my brittle bones breaking.”

“Not gonna ask,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Not until I can catch my breath. Saw you in the elevator—for just a second before it closed again. Saw him… Ran down the stairs while Jason ran up. We checked every floor.”

“Jason? I left him here… in the dining room.”

“He ran up, nearly bust a gut to tell me Eddie had you and some shit about you chatting him up.” His arms tightened, growing rigid around her.

She burrowed deeper. “Me chatting up a guy?” She pressed her lips together, tensing. “Must have read the situation wrong.”

“Dammit,” he cussed softly. At last, his arms eased their crushing hold, just enough so he could lean away.

She felt a hole burning into the top of her head and slowly raised her gaze.

Sam’s face was red, his eyes narrow, angry slits. “Were you trying to seduce a damn incubus into coming up to the third floor?”

She winced. Stated like that, her plan sounded stupid. “Almost worked. Except for the part that he didn’t buy a minute of it.”

Sam shook his head. “And what were you gonna do if you did get him up there?”

“I figured you could sit on him until he told us who his accomplice was. Rough him up a bit.” She lifted a shoulder. “It’s not like we have to Mirandize a demon.”

Sam’s breath left in a slow exhale. “That was a shit plan, O’Connell.”

“Yeah, I figured that out the moment he asked me if I thought he was stupid. Funny thing was, he didn’t seem all that threatening.”

Sylvia huffed beside her. “That asshole fed me to the wall. Joo t’ink he’s not dangerous?”

Thank goodness Sam couldn’t hear the ghost. He’d be nodding right along.

Sam swallowed. His jaw was clenched so hard he could have pounded concrete. “So, where’d he go?”

“Back to 1980. I imagine his boss is kicking his ass, given Eddie wanted me for himself.”

Sam’s arms dropped, and his hand manacled her wrist. His face was tight and nearly purple, with a tic pulsing beside his eye. “We’re going now. Problem’s not isolated to the third floor. He has control of the elevators too. The whole damn place might be his feeding ground.”

Cait’s feet scuffed behind him, not able to keep up with his fast pace. Inside thirty seconds, they were outside the hotel, and he hit the automatic door lock of his car.

He slammed open the passenger door, pushed her inside, then knelt beside her seat. “Don’t budge,” he said, wagging a finger in her face. “Don’t talk to anyone. Keep the fucking door closed. I’m going back in to clear out the team until I have a chance to sort this out.”

At her scowl, he gave her nose a firm tap. “I’m serious, Cait. You move a damn muscle and your ass is mine.”

“That supposed to do anything but thrill me?” she muttered.

Only he didn’t smile at her quip. He looked ready to chew metal.

The door slammed shut, and Cait stayed right where he’d put her. Besides, Eddie and the demon in the walls had scared the crap out of her. She’d play humble, maybe shed a tear or two, and by morning, everything would be copacetic.

Fifteen minutes later, they were pulling up in front of her apartment. Sam hadn’t said a word since he’d come stomping out of the hotel doors.

Cait opened her car door and slid out, surprised to find her legs a little wobbly after all. By the time she’d cleared the front of the car, Sam’s door slammed and he came right at her, his expression so dark and furious, she at last felt a thrill of fear.

Adrenaline kicked in, and Cait dashed to the door, fishing in her pocket for her keys.

But he was faster, pushing her against the door and reaching high for the key on the ledge. With a grip on her upper arm, he unlocked the door and pushed her, slamming them inside.

His hand dropped from her arm, and she lifted a hand to rub her skin, pretending it hurt, but he didn’t show an ounce of remorse. His expression was scary—his jaw so tight a muscle jumped along the edge. His eyebrows lowered, which shadowed his eyes and made them even more menacing.

“I’ll just go get a shower,” she said, pointing to her bedroom door.

But when she started to turn away, he said, “Cait.”

Just the one word. So clipped it cut.

“You’re off this case.”

Her head swiveled back. “You can’t. You need me.”

“You don’t have a shred of self-preservation. You walked into that elevator, knowing what that bastard was. I don’t know why the hotel didn’t suck you through those doors. Maybe it was Morin’s spell, but you still put yourself in danger. It stops.” He held out his hand. The key lay in the center of his palm. “Keep it off the ledge.”

Her stomach dropped to her toes, sickening her more than the joyride in the elevator had. She scraped it off his palm and curled her fingers around it, not saying a word as he let himself out. This time, he closed the door with a finality that felt like a body blow.

Cait sat huddled in a booth at O’Malley’s. She stared at her Coke, wondering why she hadn’t issued a protest when Pauly slid the glass in front of her. She’d never wanted to stop drinking. Sam had wanted that for her. But he’d handed her back her key. Telling her by his gesture that they were over.

She’d glanced around her empty apartment and nearly wept. But she wasn’t a crier. This time, she’d screwed up so badly, she didn’t know what to do next. She felt so hollow, so alone, she was actually glad to find Sylvia on the doorstep after she’d gathered herself together and decided to skip out to the bar.

“Joo screwed the pooch, chica.”

Cait didn’t answer, her mind made up she was going to wallow in grief for a good long time.

“Man’s right. Joo crazy. Don’ know why joo thought joo could win against somet’ing like that.” Sylvia paused in her monologue. “Hey, joo know that guy? He’s starin’.”

Cait hardly had the energy to lift her head and follow Sylvia’s gaze. But when she did, she sat straighter. Her eyes blurred for a second, but she quickly blinked away the tears.

Her father sat at his table, a Guinness in front of him, glaring back. When she held his gaze, he eased off his chair and approached. His glance went to Sylvia. “Scoot.”

“No please?” Sylvia said, narrowing her thickly mascaraed eyes.

“I’ve forgotten how to be polite,” Paddy O’Connell said, one side of his mouth quirking up. “I could just sit on you, but I really don’t want to get that intimate, sweetheart.”

A frown dug a line between her brows, but Sylvia moved down the seat, making room for Cait’s father on the bench seat.

“Who’s the dead guy?” Sylvia whispered, although Paddy could hear every word.

“My dad,” Cait whispered, her gaze unblinking and locked on her father’s figure sitting across the table. She was afraid to blink in case he wisped away as he had the first and only time she’d seen him here.

“What’s the matter, Caitydid?” he asked in the deep, gravelly voice she remembered from her childhood, the one he’d used after he’d gathered her in his arms and sat her on his knee.

“Her man dumped her.”

Paddy’s rusty eyebrows shot up. “Sam?”

“Joo know about him?” Cait asked, then realized she’d mimicked Sylvia’s accent. “You know Sam?”

Paddy nodded. “I’ve seen him here with you. Before you could see me. Man’s head over heels. What did you do?”

She scowled. “You automatically assume it’s my fault?”

His lips pursed. “It’s me you’re talkin’ to, girlie.”

Cait plucked at an imaginary thread on her jacket, forgetting for the moment she’d meant to keep staring. “I made a mistake. He’s a little angry. Handed back my key.”

“Doesn’t seem the type to go back on a decision. That mistake must not have been so little.”

Her lips twisted, and she was afraid she’d start crying, but she lifted her head. “I flirted with a demon. Used myself as bait. Not something I planned. I think the surprise nearly gave him a heart attack. And things went sideways pretty fast.”

Paddy shook his head. “It’s your mother’s fault. She thought magic was the answer to everything, that because she was a witch, she could breeze through any crisis so long as she could find the right spell.”

“I’m not like her,” Cait said, feeling a twinge of disloyalty. “I’m not flighty.”

“Really? And your baiting a demon showed common sense?”

Cait squirmed in her chair, not unaware that she was receiving a scolding from a dead man. “I don’t take magic for granted. Barely use it. I’m a PI before I’m a witch. Most days, I live in the real world. I don’t wave a wand—”

“You don’t have a wand. Neither did your mother. But you still act before you think.” His lips twitched. “You must be drivin’ that boy out of his mind.”

His words and his tone indicated he felt more than a little empathy for Sam’s point of view.

Cait slumped in her seat. “Maybe you should be haunting him instead of me, seeing as you two have so much in common.”

“Wouldn’t do any good. We can’t exactly compare notes.” Paddy O’Connell fell silent.

Cait drank in the sight of him, so large and sturdy. A stolid mountain of a man. His hair was the same dark red she remembered. Freckles blended with his tanned skin. “I miss you, Daddy.”

“I’ve always been here,” he said with a sad smile. “You’re the love of my life, Caitydid.”

Tears engulfed her eyes, and she blinked, sending them in trails down her cheeks.

“Give him some space to get over bein’ scared.”

“I don’t think space is going to do it,” she said, a hitch in her voice. “I think he meant it. He’s done with me.”

“When love’s that strong, Caity, a man can’t fight it. He’ll be back.”

“You and Mom?”

He shook his head, the light in his green eyes growing dim. “We were mismatched from the start, although we both tried really hard to make a go of being together. We wanted different things. I couldn’t walk through the house or lay my head on a pillow without finding some kind of gris-gris bag or dried-up reptile. I didn’t understand or believe in her ability. In the end, that’s what parted us. Not some bullet.”

She reached her hand across the table but stopped just shy of his hand. One touch would emphasize the gulf between them.

“You go home,” her father said. “You do whatever he asked of you. Don’t add to his worries.”

“But I can’t, Daddy. I’m the only one who can fight this thing.”

Paddy sighed. “Then you’ve made your choice. Don’t expect him to ever agree. A man comes to a point where he has to let go, or he’ll never find peace.” He pushed up from his seat, then halted. “You seeing that Morin?” he asked, his voice roughening.

The way he said Morin’s name erased any doubts he knew about Morin’s role in her life—and her mother’s. “Not often. Only when I need advice.”

“Keep it that way. He’s a user. He may have powers, but look at the mess he got himself into. You’re best to stay away from all that. Your mother didn’t learn her lesson until too late. She still hasn’t.”

She still hasn’t. Cait held still. “Do you see Mama?”

“Like I’m seeing you now?” He shook his head. “Haven’t since she summoned me. I was at peace, but then she called me back. To ask for forgiveness. What she really wanted was permission to move on—to him.” His expression turned bitter, his lips twisted. “I’m not sorry she did, though. You might still need me.”

“I’ll always need you.” They shared a long, poignant glance. “She didn’t try to send you back?”

Paddy snorted. “Said she didn’t know how. Hadn’t realized I couldn’t find my own way.”

“Have you looked?” Cait canted her head. “Sylvia here is in a similar predicament.”

Paddy turned to Sylvia for the first time. “She call you?”

Sylvia’s arms were folded. She gave an emphatic nod, her lip curling in a snarl. “She did. And for nothin’. Now I’m stuck. If my asshole husband could see me, I’d haunt his ass.”

Paddy grinned. “You don’t have to appear to him to cause him grief.”

Sylvia’s dark gaze glinted. “Really?”

“Stick with me a bit—until this one figures out how to send you back,” he said, pointing to Cait. “In the meantime, I’ll show you what a poltergeist can do.”

The two of them slid from the bench. Her dad gave her a final wink, and they headed out of the bar together, fading through the door.

“Great, I lost my boyfriend, but my dad has a date.” She sipped her Coke.

“Since it’s pure soda I served you, I’m gettin’ a little worried here, Cait.”

Cait glanced up to find Pauly standing right beside her, his glance going to the opposite empty seat. She wondered how long he’d watched her talking to the air. “I’m just practicing a few arguments for the next time I see Sam.”

Relief lit his eyes, and he grinned. “Can I bring you something else?”

Cait was tempted. Her gaze flicked to the various bottles at the back of the bar, scanning the shapes for her favorite.

Pauly’s silence said he knew it too.

But she shook her head. “Better not. I have a lot of thinking to do.”

“Anytime you want to talk to someone who might talk back, I’m all ears, hon.”

She gave him a sheepish smile. If he only knew.

As he ambled off, she reached for her phone. Several taps later, she listened to the dial tone.

“That you, Cait?” Jason asked. “Still have an ass?”

Shaking her head, Cait made a face at the phone. “We’re off the case.”

“Can’t say I’m not surprised. You scared years off Sam’s hide. Never saw a guy that size move so fast after I told him what you’d done.”

Cait sighed. “He doesn’t want us anywhere near the hotel. Said the officers guarding the door would turn me away.”

After a long pause, Jason asked, “So what do you want me to do?”

“That’s what I like about you.” Cait smiled. “No fussing or cursing. No lectures or fingers wagging in my face. Just a helpful segue.”

He groaned. “Cait, you can’t be thinking about going back there.”

“I have to get inside. And I have to do it tonight. The demon in the hotel knows about us. He consigned his lieutenant to the past. Right now he’s got to be nervous. He won’t dare strike with the place covered in cops.” Her grip on the phone tightened. “Not again. I want to see what the TV crew has. See if their film will reveal that point of conflux. I have to know if it’s more specific than just the hotel or just the third floor.”

“And when you find it, what then?”

Cait shrugged and raked a hand through her hair. “I don’t know. But knowing where it is would be helpful, even if only to make sure everyone stays clear. Maybe if I can do this without getting anyone killed, Sam’ll let me back on the case.”

“Must have been a hell of a fight.”

You have no clue. “Oh, he was angry.”

“Huh.” Jason grunted. “You at O’Malley’s?”

“Where else? The apartment was too quiet after he dropped me off.”

Another pause stretched, then he asked, “You drinkin’?”

“No. Not like I didn’t want to, but I have to keep my head screwed on. Too much at risk. Sam and everyone else who goes in and out of that place are all in danger.”

“Trying to save the world?”

“Not the world, Jason. Just my little piece.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

She ended the call and slid from her booth. Her heart still felt heavy. Remorse burned a hole in her belly. Sam had every right to his fury. She could see his point. The moment the elevator doors had opened to the paisley wallpaper, she really thought she’d been lost. That she’d never see Sam again, or that she’d have to wait decades to tell him she was sorry. The other possibility, of winding up inside a wall, her guts yanked out and her body looking like jerky, wasn’t one she could ponder without throwing up.

Yeah, she’d been that scared. She just hadn’t had time to process everything she’d seen. Now that she had, she realized she’d learned something useful too.

The demon was scared.

14

“Cait, the stairwell door is clear,” Jason whispered.

She lowered her phone and ran up the final set of stairs to slip through the door to the third floor. The cop who should have been watching the hall was nowhere in sight.

How Jason had managed that feat, she didn’t want to know. Plausible deniability and all.

At the room assigned to the Reel PIs, she knocked, hoping they didn’t have any other visitors inside or she was toast.

The door inched open. Clayton’s large bulbous eye appeared in the crack.

“Cait!” He opened the door and grabbed her arm, hauling her inside. “Sam said you weren’t coming, but we have so much to show you. Madame Xavier said you were a witch. That you were the most plugged in to all this. Truth is, we don’t know what we’re seeing.”

“Take a breath.” Cait turned the deadbolt on the door. “In case I need a second to hide,” she said, offering him a conspiratorial wink. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of stale pizza and beer. Their mussed hair and the equipment tossed willy-nilly on the beds and floor clued her in that they’d been hard at work for a while.

Clayton waved her to a chair. “Mina, play back the tape.”

Cait nodded to Booger, who sat on the edge of the bed.

Mina gave her a smug half-smile. “We’re gonna be famous.”

That thought had Cait hiding a grimace, but who was she to rain on their parade? No doubt Leland would make sure the recording never saw the light of day. She took her seat in the armchair beside Mina’s metal folding one and with Clayton hovering over her shoulder.

She watched as the camera panned wide to fit Madame Xavier into the frame.

“I see a spirit! Her essence is bright, luminous. She’s right beside you, Cait.”

The camera rushed forward, peering around the psychic’s shoulder. “I see a large smudge, roundish, next to Cait,” came Mina’s voice.

“Round is a shape.” Cait heard herself say a few moments afterward, her black-and-white expression puckish.

The moment Cait watched herself aim the flashlight past the camera and squint her eyes, she gripped the chair’s arms.

Cait was gesturing to Sam, in the direction of the hallway where the bodies were found. “Sparky hasn’t joined us yet?”

“Not a peep,” he said. In the infrared, his face was a study of harsh lines. “Beginning to think this might be a bust.”

The camera made a sickening swing back to the medium. In the background, a shadow ducked from around the corner of the hall, and then back.

Clayton’s pointing finger extended past Cait’s shoulder. “Stop it there. Go back. It’s not what I want you to see, but this part is interesting too. How’d he get on the floor? Recognize him?”

In the freeze frame, Eddie’s face shone, peeking around the corner.

“The EMT guy who worked on Cait!” Mina said.

“You see that? Somebody else is up here,” Cait said.

“We sure about that? Booger, Clayton!” Sam’s voice rang loudly.

“We’re watching the feed,” came Clayton’s faint voice from a distance. “We’ve already got some great stuff. Orbs, that round smudge Madame Xavier saw.”

“Shush, the only one who can hear you is me,” Cait hissed.

“Uh, who were you talking to?” Mina asked, turning to Cait.

Cait shrugged. “I forget.”

“Seriously, you’re gonna sing that?” Then a beat later, “Sylvia, this is not the place!”

Booger, Mina, and Clayton leveled their stares on her.

Me and my big mouth. The last thing she wanted them to know was that she talked to spirits. But how could she explain away her words? She lifted her shoulders and stared again at the screen. “What did you want me to see?”

Mina glared and hit play again.

“You feel? Can you feel me? That tickled.”

“I didn’t touch you,” Jason said, giving her a quick look.

“Wasn’t talking to you.”

“She still there?” he whispered.

“Sharpie-outlined lips and all.”

The feed stopped again.

Clayton stepped around the chair to stare down like an inquisitor. “Cait, you’re a medium too? You’re talking to her. Sylvia Reyes. You see her. Oh. My. God. Do you realize what this means?”

Cait gave him her meanest glare. “Not a thing, because if you ever air that part, I’ll come after you.”

“I’ll say. And TMI, by the way,” the Cait with the huge mouth in the recording continued.

Cait groaned as more of the one-sided conversation continued.

The camera work got jumpier, the picture jerking, because Mina was getting either jostled or overexcited.

Down the hall, Madame Xavier fluttered her fingers. “I’ve never seen a spirit that dense or large,” she said as she squinted toward them.

A damning, too-long second later. “You’re growing on me, Syl.”

Just as the psychic reached the opening to the other hallway, Cait heard herself shout, “Madame Xavier, come back!”

“I told her not to go within twenty feet of that hall,” Sam muttered.

Thankfully, the recording halted.

“That’s all we have on that part,” Mina said, “but I spliced in the feed from the static camera I had set on a tripod. Watch this.”

No nauseating jerking going on with this part of the tape. A pop sounded as a bulb flared then exploded in the ceiling in the haunted hallway. The taped-off door swung open. A sudden brightness consumed the picture.

Mina stopped the recording again to fiddle with a dial on her console, and the brightness dimmed a notch to show the bright light was a bolt of electricity arcing like a whip out the door.

Madame Xavier turned her head to glance over one shoulder. Her hands jerked up, her back straightening away. “Oh my Lord,” she was heard to say a moment before another whip of light lashed out, wrapped around her wrist, and then pulled back, whisking her off her feet and through the door, which then slammed shut.

Mina hit reverse again, stopping on the slamming door. Then she slowed the recording so they could watch the scene progress, one frame at a time. The opened wall was visible, but liquefying and forming a circle that turned, the center sucking inward, forming a funnel with Madame Xavier’s large body folded in the center, her waving hands near her wiggling feet, the moment she was sucked through.

Three gazes swung from the screen and landed on Cait.

She blew out a breath and met theirs, knowing they deserved an explanation. They’d faced the monster and had lost a comrade. “You were right about this being a demonic haunting,” she said quietly. “He lives in the walls. This hotel has been his killing field. And you’ve found the point of conflux.”

“I knew it!” Clayton punched a fist into the air then jerked it close to his body. “Yes!”

Booger cleared his throat. “If he’s in the walls, can he see us here?”

“I’m not sure. But he knows we’re on to him.”

“Is it safe to be here?” Mina whispered.

“You don’t have to whisper. He’s fed intermittently, over decades. The fact he’s killed twice in just a few days might have drained him. I’m assuming he expends a lot of energy to do that,” Cait said, waving at the screenshot of him sucking Madame Xavier into a vortex.

“While his energy field is low, Booger could do an exorcism,” Clayton said.

Cait shook her head. “I have it on good authority that an exorcism won’t destroy him. He’ll simply move on to another place.”

“Then what can be done?”

“I don’t know. But you’ve been helpful. I needed confirmation that was the spot, although how the bodies were moved from there to other parts of this floor, I don’t know. I suppose he could simply have carried them around when he was in human form, opened a wall, and hidden them.”

“He has a human form?” Clayton’s eyebrows rose. “We could interview him.”

Cait rolled her eyes. “Just because he might not be able to whip up a sucking vortex doesn’t mean he won’t be dangerous. If you corner him into an interview, he will likely still be deadly. Besides, we don’t know who he is.”

Clayton chewed on his bottom lip, then let it go. “So, what’s the next step?”

“Nothing. For you.” She had to credit their enthusiasm. “Your part’s done.”

“But you’re off the investigation,” Booger said, shrugging when she gave him a glare. “You don’t have your usual resources now. Use us.”

She shook her head and pushed up from the chair. “Oh no. You saw what happened to your friend.”

“There’s got to be something we can do,” Booger said. “We could help you with research.”

“I already have my sources.” She shuddered inwardly at the thought of facing Morin without Sam at her side.

“We could stay here,” Mina said. “Keep the cameras going. Let you know if anything changes.”

Cait hesitated, but then slowly nodded. “So long as you all promise me you won’t try to go poking around that hallway.”

Clayton sketched a cross over his heart. “We’ll stay well away from the point of conflux. Can’t start a TV career if we’re sucked in too.”

“I guess you guys could be useful.” As the thought formed, she nodded. “As guests, you can roam the ground floor. Mina, get some shots around the foyer, the dining room, and the bar. If you see anything or anyone who looks or acts odd when you play it back, let me know.”

Mina gave her a solemn nod.

Cait reached into her pocket and drew out her wallet. She handed Clayton her card. “Call me first, but let Sam know as well. If anything goes down, he can’t be left out of the loop.”

“Sure. You first. Sam the very next second,” Clayton said.

A soft knock sounded at the door. Cait tiptoed to the bathroom and nodded before closing the door just enough to conceal herself.

Door locks clicked.

“Cait, you done here?” Jason’s voice sounded from the doorway.

She stepped out and gave him a nod. “The coast clear?”

“For about a minute.” He opened the door, peeked out, then waved her through.

Five minutes later in the parking garage, she huddled on the floorboard of his car as he drove past the parking booth.

“We’re clear.”

She shot up and buckled into the passenger seat. “The feed was pretty interesting.”

“Wish I’d had time to watch,” he muttered.

Cait angled her body toward him. “The wall liquefied and began to spin, like that old Time Tunnel show my dad used to watch in reruns. Sucked poor Madame Xavier right through.”

“So we know where, just not who yet.”

Cait tapped the dashboard with her palm. “There has to be a way to expose a demon.”

“Thinking you need to work another spell?”

“Or find something I can use to see him?” Cait shrugged. “I really don’t know.”

“Need a trip to Morin’s?”

Cait thought hard about what needed to happen next. “Not Morin’s. Not yet. I really need to speak to Sam. He has to bend on this, or someone else will die.”

“From what you said, he might not be willing to listen. And if he knows you went behind his back to see those guys…”

She slumped in her seat. “He needs me. Doesn’t he know that?”

When he darted a glance her way, Jason’s gaze softened. “He loves you, Cait. He doesn’t want to see you dead.”

“I’m not an idiot. I really don’t think Eddie wanted to feed me to his master.” Her hand waved in the air. “More like he wanted me for himself. Wanted a companion.”

“That makes me feel all better,” he muttered. “Do you think he’s still alive? Still working the hotel?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t a clue, but I imagine he’s too valuable to destroy. Without Eddie to pick his vics, the demon in the walls has to depend on chance to get the right prospect into the room. He likes bimbos.” Her chest tightened. “Madame Xavier wouldn’t have been taken if we hadn’t focused so much attention on 323. We made the demon nervous, and he lashed out like a cornered beast.”

“Well, it’s pretty late. Not sure what more we can accomplish. Ready to call it a night?”

She glanced at her watch, shocked to see how late it was. “Yeah, we should both rest.”

“I’ll drop you at your place.”

“No, take me to Sam’s.”

Jason shot her a glance. “You sure? He hasn’t had time to cool off.”

“I can’t take the waiting, wondering if he meant it. I have to talk to him, and he needs to know about what I just saw.”

Jason whistled softly through pursed lips. “You’ll be digging yourself a bigger hole.”

“Maybe. Or perhaps I’ll let him blow hot, spank my ass, and he might let us come back.”

Jason’s nose wrinkled. “Didn’t need that picture in my head.”

Cait smiled, her pulse kicking up a beat at her own words.

“If he lets you back, you won’t be calling the shots.”

“I don’t have to be in charge.”

“So you said.” His mouth curved into a wry grin.

Cait sat back, closing her eyes for the rest of the trip, conserving her energy for the battle to come.

The doorbell rang, and Sam had a sinking feeling about who waited on his stoop. He rolled out of bed, padded from his bedroom into the living room, and headed straight to the front door.

Without checking the peephole, he swung the door wide. “Cait, what are you doing here?”

She didn’t wait for an invitation. She ducked under his arm and squeezed through into his living room. “We have to talk,” she said, sounding breathless.

“I’ve said all I’m going to say,” he said, keeping his voice even, his face schooled into a neutral mask. But the truth was he was relieved to see her. Being here meant she wasn’t trying to sneak back into the hotel despite his orders to the contrary.

He slammed the door and then leaned against it, slowly folding his arms over his naked chest. If only he’d worn something more substantial than thin cotton boxers. He needed layers to mask his immediate and inconveniently reliable reaction to her proximity.

“We have to talk,” she repeated, beginning to shed her thin leather jacket. “I can’t leave things the way they were.”

“Things, Cait? The investigation or us?” he asked, although he didn’t really want to know which came first with her. When it came to a case, she was like a dog guarding her favorite bone.

“Both.” She strode closer.

He stiffened—both his back and his cock. He concentrated, ruthlessly willing his body not to concede the battle before they’d even begun.

Her face tilted upward, solemn green eyes searching his face. “I’m sorry. I screwed up.”

“Tell the truth for once, Cait.” He shook his head. “You’re sorry I’m angry, but you don’t regret the risk you took.”

Her lips pursed, forming a pout. “I wasn’t sorry then. I had to know if it was him. But the moment the doors closed and I was safe, I realized just how much I’d almost lost. The experience scared me, and I thought I might die. Or that I might be trapped in the past and unable to see you for decades. I imagined myself skulking around playgrounds like a perv to watch you as you grew older.” She swallowed hard. “Waiting until you knew me before approaching you to say just how deeply sorry I was.”

Sam studied her face, the paleness of her skin, the moisture glinting in her eyes, and had no doubt everything she said was true. She was deeply sorry. Afraid—after the fact. But her apology wasn’t good enough. “You risked everything, risked us, so you could have your answers. We were partners in this, but you never read me in about your suspicions.”

“I wasn’t sure.”

“Not the point,” he said, anger causing his voice to rise and vibrate. “How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t get to decide what I need to know or when?”

Her eyebrows drew into a frown, and she turned away. “What do I have to do?”

“That is the point. It’s not something you can do.” His chest tightened. “Not something you’re willing to consider.”

“I won’t know unless you tell me.”

His fingers ached where he gripped his arms. “I shouldn’t have to. You should come to me, without any double-think, to run things by me. It should be instinctive. It is for me. You don’t consider me your friend, your ally. You think of me as…” He waved a hand in frustration. “I don’t know, someone you have to manipulate to get around.”

“I don’t.”

At his hot glare, her mouth closed.

“You’re so used to keeping secrets, to holding things close until you get too deep to dig yourself out alone, that you can’t imagine being a partner. For years, I followed your ass around, watching your back, cleaning up your messes. I can’t do it anymore. I quit.”

Cait’s face fell. A tear tracked down her cheek.

The urge to comfort her was strong, but if he caved now, she’d never learn. Never try to change. He’d stayed away a whole goddamn year to make her face her problem with the booze, hoping she’d choose sobriety and him.

Cait dropped to the arm of the couch, her gaze fixed on her hands, which she held together in front of her. “I don’t know how to be any other way. I don’t know how to change the way I think, or my overriding instincts.”

“I know that. But I no longer accept that just because that’s the way you’re wired, you can’t change it.”

Her tear-stained face rose. “I do love you.”

Sam blinked his eyes and glanced away. “That’s not the issue,” he said, betraying the ragged edge of his emotions in the texture of his voice.

“I quit drinking for you.”

Sam sucked in a sharp breath and nailed her with a hard glance. “Gimme a break. Breaking with booze wasn’t all for me. The moment you stepped back into the magic, you knew you had to keep a clear head.”

“But the moment the crisis was over, I didn’t go searching for a bottle to celebrate either.” Her chin jutted. “I’ve kept clean because I need you in my life more than I need a drink. I can change. I have.”

Sam considered what she said, heard the strength, the pride in her voice. The underlying plea for another chance.

With a sudden move, she pushed off the sofa arm. “You have to practice something to make it habit. I just don’t think I’ve made telling you everything, as soon as it happens, a habit. But I can change this too. I promise I can.”

Not “I’ll try,” he noted. Something he wouldn’t have accepted. His gaze remained on her, resting on the only person on the planet he’d ever have given so many chances. He wondered if he was a fool. A fool in love. But the thought of not being in her world, even if she failed at this, was unimaginable, because he’d worry every minute of every day that she’d step into another elevator with an incubus.

His breath and his anger left him in a long exhale. “You look wrecked.”

“I’m tired. Sad,” she added in a whisper.

“We should both get some sleep.”

“You’ll have to call me a taxi. Jason dropped me off.”

His gaze narrowed.

Cait winced, and then squared her shoulders. “I went back to the hotel. But I stayed clear of the conflux. I promise. The ghost crew had something they needed me to see.”

Trying not to let the anger erupt again, he shot a glance to the ceiling. The fact she’d told him without prodding was something.

“You should have been with me to watch it.”

He left unspoken an emphatic agreement. He was tired too. And sad. But mostly, he was horny. He jerked his chin toward his bedroom door. “We’re not through discussing this.”

A dark brown brow arched. Her cheeks flushed. “Guess you’ll have to figure out a way to make sure I don’t forget this lesson.”

The hot, throbbing ache that had settled in his groin at her arrival sharpened. “Sweetheart, you won’t forget. Every time you sit you’ll get a little reminder.”

Her lips twitched.

“You first.” He followed her through the bedroom door, reluctantly realizing he’d have to keep the room completely dark to hide the fact he’d never, not even for a minute, gotten over her.

15

Not for a second did Cait think she was out of the woods. Sam was still livid. But while they’d talked, his cock had stirred, filled, becoming a heavy knot against the placket of his boxers.

Oh, she’d noticed and felt a burgeoning hope. Sex would smooth away the edges. Give them a chance to connect in the one way they never failed to communicate well.

Already her body was responding to his unspoken signals, warming, melting like wax. As she preceded him into the darkened bedroom, her hips swayed, inviting him to touch.

A large hand clamped on one buttock. An arm encircled her, fingers pressing against her lower abdomen as he moved in behind her. His face nuzzled the corner of her shoulder. Then his teeth bit her lobe, tugging it before he nipped the tender skin of her neck, causing her to gasp and her knees to weaken. She sagged against him, her bottom jutting to rub against the thick, hard ridge.

He peeled away her clothes, licking and nipping at everything he bared. When she was nude, he pushed her toward the bed.

She stumbled, falling onto the mattress. His strong hands gripped her waist and shoved her toward the center. Before she could get her knees beneath her, he was on top of her. His boxers gone. His cock nudging her backside, his hands pushing apart her legs.

He entered her from behind, not the deep thrust she craved, but his rutting movements, churning cream, warmed her from the inside out. His weight sank her deep into the mattress.

Her breaths were shallow, kittenish pants.

He surrounded her with his size, his musky scent, his strength. But then he withdrew, and again, his hands were shaping her, forcing her bottom up, her chest against a soft cotton comforter.

Fingers traced the length of her slit, drawing more moisture to coat the digits before sinking into her. His mouth pressed a single kiss against her bottom. When he began to pump his thick digits inside her, she wanted to say it wasn’t enough, opened her mouth to voice her complaint, but then a swat landed on her skin—sharp, stinging.

Again, she gasped, pushed up on her arms, and aimed a glare over her shoulder.

Her eyes, having adjusted to a darkness relieved by a sliver of moonlight peeking through curtains, noted Sam kneeling behind her, his face tense. His eyes, though darkly hooded, glittered in the silvery light.

Lips quirked up on one side, he swung his free hand and gave her ass an underhanded slap that rocked her body. That one she’d feel in the morning.

He challenged her with his dark eyes, thrust his fingers deeper and swirled, his thumb coming into play to rasp over her hardening clit.

All thoughts about the inadequacy of his actions flew from her mind. Her bottom and swollen sex caught fire. She faced forward again, leaned down to press her chest against the bed, and gripped the covers to hold herself still for whatever he wanted. He’d swatted her in play before, but never as a punishment. She wondered how far he’d go to make his point. Thought maybe she’d enjoy it.

His fingers slid free. A wet clap landed on the other side of her bottom. The next swat caught her directly between the legs.

She groaned, dropping her forehead to rest on the covers, surrendering, because her sex swelled, enlivened by his sweet abuse.

When her bottom and her pussy burned, his hands gripped her buttocks hard, fingers digging into hot lovestung flesh. His cock butted against her sex and then drove inside.

Cait moaned, a sound that stretched and gusted with his powerful thrusts. The thickness cramming so fast and hard inside stretched her inner walls. His heavy balls smacked against her engorged clit, giving her exactly what she needed to begin her ascent. She inched apart her knees to let him stroke deeper, to allow his groin to spank against her intimate flesh. Friction and his sexy pounding lifted her higher.

But he pulled free—so abruptly, she cried out. He turned her, dragging her body beneath his, and entered her again. His hands slipped under her, cradled her butt, and then he was stroking again, his chest against hers, his sturdy frame rocking hard and unrelenting against hers.

Cait cupped his face and lifted her head, branding his mouth with a hot kiss, which he returned with feral satisfaction, rubbing his mouth hard against hers, driving his tongue inside to duel and subjugate her own.

Her hands slid around his neck. She drew up her knees and curled her hips. Each thrust pushed the air from her lungs until she grew dizzy, her sounds more desperate.

She splintered apart, a jagged flash exploding from her core to tremble through her body.

Sam growled, gripped her ass harder, and powered into her, setting her sailing over the peak and into a pitch-black darkness.

When his movements ebbed, she rubbed her face against his, kissed his hard jaw, his throat, catching a trickle of sweat with the curl of her tongue. He dropped down, his cock and large body pinning her to the mattress. For now, she was content to lie breathless beneath him.

As her body relaxed, she roamed her hands over his back, fingers sinking into the deep indent of his spine. “I love you,” she whispered in his ear.

His soft grunting response made her smile.

At last, he rolled them until they lay side by side, her thigh riding his hip to keep their bodies intimately locked together.

“We should sleep,” he said, his voice already slurring with fatigue.

Nestled against his chest, for once she offered no argument.

The jarring sound of the phone ringing woke them both. Cursing, Sam reached out and slapped his nightstand, finding his iPhone.

Cait groaned and rolled to her back to watch as he tapped the screen. They’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep. Still, she was wide awake, felt a frisson of expectancy that something significant had happened.

“Pierce.”

“Get your ass down to the station,” came Leland’s gruff bark, loud enough she heard. “Reyes is here and wants to talk to the two of you.”

“Be there in thirty,” Sam said and ended the call. He rolled toward her.

Cait leaned up on an elbow.

“You hear that?” he asked, his voice rough as gravel.

“Yeah, sounds like we better hurry.”

They rushed through a shower, conserving water and time, and then headed straight to interrogation.

Leland was waiting in the hallway. “Reyes is in there.” He jerked a thumb toward the door. “And he didn’t lawyer up.” His lips curled in a snarl. “By the looks of him, he might be workin’ on an insanity plea.” He reached out and opened the door but didn’t bother following them in.

When Cait passed him, Leland leaned close. “You do something to him? I don’t care if you did. Man’s a dirt bag, but he doesn’t look right.”

“And your first thought was that I’m somehow to blame?”

“I’d be impressed.”

Really? She narrowed her gaze.

Sam’s lips twitched.

When she stepped into the room and shut the door behind her, she saw what Leland meant.

Sam took the chair opposite Reyes, whose hair stuck up in oily spikes and whose beady eyes were so wide, the whites showed.

More surprising to Cait was who stood behind him. She lifted her chin in a silent greeting to Sylvia, whose red-markered lips were stretched with a wide smile.

Cait took the chair beside Sam’s, aimed a glance toward the camera in the corner of the ceiling, and then settled her full attention on Oscar.

A cup of coffee sat in front of him, and he stared at it, his expression a little wild.

“Oscar,” Sam said, drawing the anxious man’s attention. “The officers read you your rights. Whatever you say now can be used against you. Do you understand?”

Oscar, all bravado gone, nodded, the movement jerking.

“You have something you want to say to me?”

Tears filled Oscar’s eyes, and he began to sob—deep, wrenching cries that made Cait cringe because they were so opposed to his previous arrogant display.

“She won’t leave me alone. The fucking bitch is haunting me.”

Sylvia’s dark eyes narrowed, and she leaned around Oscar. She pointed a finger and then stared at the cup. When she touched it, the cup moved an inch toward him.

Oscar cried out and scooted back his chair. “You see that?”

Sam gave no indication he’d seen the cup move.

Cait had to fight the urge to look in Sylvia’s direction. Instead, she intently watched Oscar Reyes’s shot nerves fray.

“She’s haunting me. Everywhere. Moving things. Writing on mirrors and windows. ‘Confess, confess,’ she says. The bitch knows.”

Sylvia pushed the cup into his lap, and Oscar leapt from his chair, shouting before curling into a fetal position in one corner of the room. “I spoke with a dude at the Deluxe,” he whispered, not lifting his head. “Said he’d take care of my whore of a wife. Said he was in the business of taking out whores. He got me drunk. Got me to agree. Then I gave him my wife’s Match.com password. She didn’t know I knew she had an account. She was flirting with other men online.” His face rose to meet Sam’s steady stare. “What was I supposed to do?”

Sylvia stood next to him, one hip hitched forward, her arms crossed under her ample breasts. “Joo a loser, Oscar. An idiota! Now joo gonna go to jail. Ha!”

Cait kept a straight face, but just barely. The man cowered like a whipped puppy.

Sylvia was on fire, flipping her hair behind her shoulder and doing a little victory dance in her pink heels. She shot a glance at Cait. “That enough to get him?”

“Oscar,” Cait said loudly to break through another round of loud sobs. “Who was the man who approached you?”

Oscar sniffed. “Some fireman at the Union Street station. Eddie.”

She winked at Sylvia and then angled her body toward Sam.

He hadn’t written a word in his notebook. Nor had he clicked the end of the Nick the Plumber pen. “Eddie,” he said, giving her a glare.

Cait raised her shoulder. “He seemed like such a nice guy.”

His gaze smoldered, so she moved around on her chair until she felt a twinge, and let him see it.

His lips curved. “Guess we’re done here,” he said, his gaze locking with hers. “Back to the hotel?”

Her breath left in a whoosh. She hadn’t expected him to cave that easily, and gave him a nod.

“I’d like to see the recording your buddies from Reel PIs have.”

Leland met them in the hallway as uniforms led Oscar away to booking. “Strange shit. Can’t edit that tape since it’s evidence.”

Cait cleared her throat. “His knees were bumping the bottom of the table. Scared himself silly. Guilty conscience got to him, I guess.”

Leland glared but gave her a nod. “Yeah. That’s the way I saw it too.”

Sylvia fluttered her fingers from behind Leland’s back, trying to get her attention.

Cait scratched her head. “I’m gonna hit the restroom. Be right back.”

Once inside the ladies’ room, she quickly searched the stalls to ensure privacy before rounding on Sylvia. “That was some trick.”

“Joor daddy showed me how. Said pure emotion can make it happen. Since I purely hate Oscar, piece o’ cake,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“You plan on sticking around here? Torture him some more?”

Sylvia shook her head. “I’ll be around. For when joo figure out how to send me back. Joor daddy said hi too. Says joo know where to find him if joo need to talk.” She yawned. “Need to rest. Payback takes a lot out of joo.”

In Sam’s car, heading to the hotel, Cait gave Sam the rundown of what had happened with Oscar.

Sam’s gaze didn’t leave the road, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Too bad we can’t put her on retainer.”

They parked on the street in front of the hotel and got out of the car.

Cait cocked her head, listening but hearing no whispers. She glanced up at the dumpy place. Old glass, yellowed, and in need of a good exterior cleaning. The marquee sign with its missing letters. Would anyone miss this place if it did burn to the ground? And how could she manage the destruction without ending up in prison herself, or getting someone hurt? There had to be another way.

“Nervous?”

“Of going inside?” She shook her head. “Just worried about how this will all end.”

“Can’t torch the place, if that’s what you’re thinking.” His gaze rose as well. “Not that anyone would miss this dump.”

Cait smiled. In some ways, they were on the same page. More alike than not, if she thought about it. They were both mulishly stubborn. Both kept their hearts cloaked behind brittle shields. And Sam had missed her every bit as much as she’d missed him during their long split.

The proof had been in the photographs. Even though they’d rushed through getting showered and dressed, with her climbing back into yesterday’s clothes because they didn’t have time to hit her apartment, she’d paused long enough to note the pictures. One of her on his nightstand, uncharacteristically smiling for the camera at her old desk in homicide. A picture of her and Sam, both wearing PD T-shirts at a family-day picnic. On Beale Street, standing under the red, white, and black Blues City Café sign. All happy moments. Always with a smile. Because they’d been so fleeting, she couldn’t remember the happy times as well as she could the sad.

Sam touched her elbow. “Look, you don’t have to come with me.”

Summoning a smile she didn’t feel, she met his questioning glance. “But then you couldn’t stay on my ass and make sure I don’t take rides in the elevator with demons.” She touched his sleeve. “You be careful too,” she added softly, then led the way inside.

Things were hopping. Two clerks staffed the front desk. New arrivals were being processed. Looked like business as usual. Odd in a place where numerous bodies had been dug out of the walls. Hadn’t these people read the newspapers?

Mr. Lewis, looking rested, his posture held straighter than on the previous days, walked toward them. “I need those rooms. We’re getting calls for bookings from as far away as California. Reservations. And they’re all requesting that floor. I’ve got repairmen lined up to fix the holes your people left as soon as you clear out.”

Cait eyed him, wondering if he was the demon. Then wondering why a demon couldn’t manage a more imposing figure.

“Sir, we’re working as fast as we can,” Sam said, his voice calm and firm.

Mr. Lewis’s gray brows bunched together over his faded eyes. “I’ve spoken to your director of police. He has assured me you’ll be out of here by tonight. There’s nothing more to be learned. You have your evidence. Your bodies.”

“Looks like all this fuss is good for business,” Cait murmured.

The old man’s glance was sharper than she expected, nearly making her take a step backward.

“Damn curiosity seekers. It’s all your fault. Letting that film crew up there. Staging that ridiculous display. It’s all over the Internet.”

Cait’s stomach dropped, wondering whether the crew had posted everything they had. She was particularly worried about the part where she appeared to be talking to herself. Leland wouldn’t be pleased because then he’d have to defend his decision to hire a crazy person.

Sam’s hand touched the small of her back, and he ushered her forward. “We’ll get back with you before we leave. Give you an estimate of how much longer we’ll be.”

“You do that,” Mr. Lewis called after them. “But don’t be surprised if the plug gets pulled for you.”

In the elevator, Sam shot her a glare. “Leland’s going to put that all on you.”

For a split second, Cait closed her eyes. “Don’t forget, you were there too. Right beside me, while I was talking to the air. You’re gonna look like you’re as big a flake as I am.”

“Dammit, Cait. Why didn’t you sit on those guys?”

Her teeth ground before she spoke. “Because you kicked me off the case.” But the erstwhile TV crew had been the least of her worries.

The door to the Reel PIs room was propped wide open.

Cait glanced inside to find the space teeming with black T-shirted dorks, the Reel PIs logo prominent on their chests.

Clayton gave her a cheerful wave. “We’re a hit,” he shouted over the din. “Discovery and The CW have called.”

At Cait’s frown, he rushed over. “Don’t worry, Cait. I edited bits. Just aired the part where we’re running down the hall, and the swirling vortex. Doesn’t mean I won’t want to interview you for that episode.”

Cait didn’t know whether to sigh in relief or grimace. “Really think it’s going to happen? A TV show?”

“We’ve had more than three hundred thousand hits since we posted this morning. That was Mina’s idea. I didn’t want to give away anything until we had the clips edited. But she said what with the case making the major networks and the story plastered all over the newspapers, the time to strike was now.”

Sam’s hand clamped hard on one side of her hip. “I’m glad for you,” he growled. “But how the hell did all these folks get in here?”

Clayton waggled his eyebrows. “All crew members of Reel PIs, Inc., were cleared for admittance. These guys had to buy our T-shirts. Walked right past the cops.”

Cait and Sam shared a glance. She pressed her lips together to keep from congratulating him on his chutzpah.

Sam shook his head, a dire warning in his darkened glare. “I’d better check that hall. Make sure no one slipped past. We don’t want any more excitement.” His hand dropped from her side.

“What the hell is goin’ on here?” Leland’s voice rang imperiously from the doorway.

Cait pursed her lips. Shit was about to hit the fan. With an effort, she cleared her expression and turned.

His cheeks were florid, and both fists curled at his sides. “I want everyone out of here now!”

Sam went to the door, standing there as folks trailed out.

Cait indicated to Clayton that he, Booger, and Mina should stay put.

When the last of their fans exited, she faced Leland, schooling her expression and wincing inside.

He drew a deep breath, staring daggers straight at her. “It’s all over the damn Internet. Director’s on my ass to get this thing sewn up tight.” He turned to Sam. “You’re the one in charge here. How the hell did that footage get leaked?”

“It’s my fault. I didn’t confiscate their recordings.” A muscle in Sam’s jaw ticked.

Clayton cleared his throat. “Sir, we’re within our rights—”

Leland’s head swiveled sharply. “This is a goddamn crime scene. Already had an earful from the manager downstairs. Told him he’d get his hotel back when I was good and ready to release it.”

Cait sucked in a deep breath. Alarm bells rang. If he’d been that forceful in the foyer, anyone might have heard. She could think of at least one entity who wouldn’t be happy about the fact life wasn’t returning to normal in the foreseeable future.

No sooner had that thought slipped past than the floor beneath their feet began to vibrate. A hum sounded, louder than the one that had sounded right before she’d been electrocuted.

Her glance went to Sam, still standing in the doorway. His gaze locked with hers, and after another violent shudder, he spread his hands to hold the door frame.

Equipment bounced on mattresses and tables, then crashed to the floor, some plastic cases splintering.

Cait stood, barely balancing herself as the shaking intensified.

“Earthquake?” Leland shouted, bracing a hand on a wall.

She shook her head. So much worse. She could feel it in her bones. “Can’t you smell it?”

Sulfur. A thick noxious cloud of yellow fog began pouring through the vents, quickly obscuring the room.

Hand over hand, she grabbed along the edge of the dresser, needing to get to the hallway. Needing to get closer to Sam because above the loud rattling she heard long, wailing cries. Echoes of the dead.

The floor rolled beneath her feet, and she stumbled to her knees. She crawled forward through the noxious cloud, bumping into Leland, who sat on his ass beside the bed, a look of pure horror on his face.

“Sam!” She kept crawling, found the doorway, and moved outside.

The hall was clear of fog, quiet and empty. A flash of light burst farther down the hallway. A door slammed in the distance. Her heart skipped a beat and then thundered fast.

Cait pushed up to her feet and ran for the hallway. “No, no, no, no,” she chanted as she pounded down the hall. The cop who’d been on duty was gone. There was no sign of Sam.

She went straight to the taped-off door and tried the handle. It turned, but when she pushed, it wouldn’t budge. Standing back, she lifted her leg and punched her foot against the thin door. The lock gave, and the door slammed open, bouncing against the interior wall.

The gaping hole in the wall looked just as it had the first time she’d seen it, but she held her breath and looked inside.

Two more bodies lay inside. Their remains were twisted together, so grotesque her stomach lurched. Again, her heart seized in her chest and then pounded.

“That’s not Sam,” she whispered and backed away, bumping into Leland, who gripped her shoulders and guided her back out. “It’s not him,” she repeated, her voice rising as her body shook.

Leland wrapped his arms around her and dragged her from the hallway.

Cait shook her head, her stomach lurching.

Voices echoed inside her. An excited chorus of whispers and shouts, words unintelligible—but one deep rumble unmistakable.

Sam’s.

16

Voices chased Cait. Wails from the dead came howling. Whispers from uniforms and forensics techs combing a crime scene everyone was sick to death of seeing.

All bore stoic gray faces. Every one of them had known Sam. Everyone had liked and respected him. And because of their respect for him, they gave her peace, working quietly, their gazes never lingering long.

Cait didn’t know if she could have held it together if they hadn’t given her space.

As it was, Leland hovered over her from the moment he pulled her from the room, rubbing her back, offering her his condolences in a broken voice, and then shouting at everyone around them to “hurry the fuck up.”

Covering her ears, Cait shivered like a leaf in a gale. All blood had drained from her head, leaving her faint. Her fingers felt ice-cold. When Leland offered to drive her home, she stared, wondering where that might be. But she’d nodded her acceptance, only because she didn’t have the strength to argue.

She wished he’d just dropped her off at her door instead of following her inside and making her tea, looking as though he was prepared to stay when all she wanted was for him to leave.

When at last she’d issued her request in a scratchy voice, he sank on a knee beside the kitchen chair where she sat, her hands wrapped around her hot mug. The voices were a staticky, torrential hum, filling her head. She had to look at his mouth to know he asked her if she’d be okay alone.

“Just go, please,” she repeated, and at last, he did, sparing her one sad glance from the door before closing it softly behind him.

She didn’t stay long in that chair. The moment she heard his sedan’s engine roar, she lurched to her feet and grabbed her keys, goaded onward by the voices, which only faded away once she pushed through the door at O’Malley’s.

Cait sat dull-eyed and silent, waiting until nearly closing before her father joined her in the booth. Her hand was clenched around the Nick the Plumber pen forensics had pulled from inside the wall next to Sam’s body.

“Why can’t I see him, Daddy?” she asked, her voice rasping and dry. She’d screamed so much after Leland pulled her out of room 323 that talking hurt.

The TV crew had been moved to another floor. Then Leland had locked the third floor down tight. No one in. No one out. Even the elevator was locked to prevent anyone else using it.

The manager wasn’t happy, but he’d stood stoically as Leland told him he was lucky the whole building wasn’t cleared.

Avery Lewis had remained calm, his eyes glinting with quiet anger.

Even Leland had lost all his bluster.

Cait had been herded past Mr. Lewis and barely managed a single glance his way.

The hotel manager’s lips had curved with the barest of smiles, confirming her suspicion.

He’d won. She’d lost all will to fight him anymore. Without her special skills, the flurry of activity and negative press would fade from memory. He’d be busy with bookings from every nut job and psychic wannabe eager to walk the hallways in hopes of a legitimate “experience.”

All he’d have to do was wait, and then he could resume his killing, carefully spacing the deaths as he had before to avoid too much attention to his killing field.

“Caitydid,” her father said softly, pulling her back. His green eyes gleamed with compassion. The harsh contours of his rugged face softened.

Cait swallowed the burning lump in her throat. “Why hasn’t he come? I tried summoning him. Used the same spell I made for Sylvia. But nothing happened. It’s dead quiet,” she said, then laughed, the sound more like a ragged sob.

“You giving up on Sam?”

She aimed a teary glance his way. “He’s dead. What else can I do?”

“I’m not the person you should ask.”

She blinked away tears, hearing what he said, but not understanding.

“You’re strong, Cait. Everyone knows.”

“Everyone?”

“All of us,” he said, nodding. “If anyone can find a way to make this right, you can. You have to try, or you’ll never forgive yourself.”

“Maybe summoning him is the wrong thing for Sam. Maybe he’s in a good place. Past the pain and fear.” She sniffed and fought against the burning in her throat. “You didn’t see him, Daddy. Every bone in his body crushed, twisted together like a pretzel with that other cop’s.”

“This can’t be the end for you two, Caitydid. We don’t like unresolved issues, and you two have plenty.”

Her lips twisted in a snarl. “Who’s ‘we’? You ghosts?”

“We O’Connells,” he said with a one-sided smile. “And what the hell are you doing here in O’Malley’s?”

“I didn’t have anyone else to talk to.”

“Not Jason or Celeste?”

Cait shook her head. “Jason would’ve, if Leland hadn’t been there. Hell, Leland would’ve stayed the night, but I couldn’t bear the looks he gave me. Like I was some poor, beaten little puppy. And Celeste, well, I’m not sure she even knows,” she said, although she wasn’t so sure that was true. Celeste’s sight was always tuned to those she loved most. And Cait, despite the fact she hadn’t been great at keeping in touch, was family.

“I don’t want to be hugged,” she whispered. “Not now.”

Paddy O’Connell’s solemn gaze reflected her sorrow.

“I’m too brittle,” she rasped. “If I start crying, I might not ever stop.”

“You have a key,” he said, sliding from the seat. He bent near her.

For a moment, she expected to feel his breath on her cheek.

“Use it, darlin’.” And then he was gone. Wisped away.

For a long moment, she thought about what he said, realizing he was right. She couldn’t let things stay the way they were. Couldn’t accept that she and Sam were done. Without resolution. Without him knowing he was everything to her.

Cait slid off the seat, eager to leave.

As she left, she didn’t acknowledge Pauly. Didn’t want him to say again how sorry he was for her loss.

Sam wasn’t hers to lose. Not really. They hadn’t mended the rift that ended their marriage. They’d only just begun to realize that living apart was only half a life, even though being together hadn’t been easy or comfortable for either of them.

Mention of a key, that other key, had made her heart spasm, remembering Sam’s quiet refusal to accept hers. But that wasn’t the one her father had been talking about. Cait felt in her pocket for Morin’s key. One that didn’t actually fit any particular lock but which granted her access to his domain.

She wouldn’t be seeking solace from him. Couldn’t betray Sam like that, even if he was dead. But Morin might help her find some answers.

Even defeated, so empty she felt like a hollow shell, she still had questions.

Stepping outside, she hoped she hadn’t missed the last trolley run; otherwise, the walk to Beale was going to be a long one.

When she let herself into Morin’s shop, she found him sitting on the steps leading up into the library. His face was haggard, his hair disheveled as though he’d been running his fingers through it. But what right did he have to look that way? He hadn’t lost anything except a rival for her heart. Not that she’d ever let him back inside. Suddenly angry, she regretted the decision to come.

He stood slowly, his arms swaying beside him, seeming unsure whether he should embrace her but deciding at the last moment not to. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

“You didn’t check my crystal ball?” she snarled.

“It needs charging. I didn’t see much past you running after Sam in that monstrous hotel.”

She was glad he didn’t make mention of the bodies she’d found. “So you know.”

His gaze sliding away, he nodded.

They stood in awkward silence until Cait swayed.

“You need a bolstering tea,” he said softly.

Blinking against the burning at the back of her eyes, she gave a sharp shake of her head. “I need Sam.”

Morin reached out to touch her shoulder, a tentative caress. “I’ll make tea. We’ll talk.”

Cait shook off his hand. “I don’t want to talk.”

His expression bleak, he nodded. “Then we won’t, but you need to sit down. You’re exhausted.” He began to turn.

“I don’t want tea. I want to sleep, Morin.”

Without looking her way, he asked, “Need a potion?”

“No, I want your bed. Someplace he hasn’t been. And I want to be alone.”

Morin swallowed and then gave her a nod. “Of course. You know the way. I’ll be down here when you awaken.”

Without another word, Cait trudged past him, making her way behind the books to the iron spiral staircase that led upward to his bedroom. She’d been there twice before. Once when she’d asked him to take her virginity. The last time, to draw down the moon while she stood in his arms, the details of which she’d shared with Sam, knowing he’d find her actions hard to forgive.

And this was the place she’d been drawn to. Cait shook her head, not understanding herself but knowing she couldn’t sleep anywhere she’d have reminders of what she’d lost. Not her bed. Not Sam’s. Surrounded by his scent, she’d have cracked.

All she wanted was to sleep and forget the images that bombarded her over and over—his strong arms braced in the doorway, looking over his shoulder at the last moment. The empty hall. The remnant spark. The twisted, blackened husks stuffed into the wall.

Cait sat on the edge of Morin’s sumptuous mattress and toed off her boots. Fully clothed, she crawled into the center and lay down on her back, staring at the dark ceiling and the window of the skylight where a full moon shed beams to brighten his chamber.

Only then did she let her mind wander. She remembered the first day she and Sam had met. He’d transferred in from vice. Although she’d seen him a time or two, crossing paths on investigations, she’d never paid him any attention until she’d raised her hand to shake his.

“Cait O’Connell.” She dropped her hand instantly, made uncomfortable by the warmth of his strong hands.

“Sam Pierce.” He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck and stared at the two desks shoved together, hers and Henry’s, but now theirs. “Leland gave me a brief summary of the cases you’re currently working on.”

She raised her chin. “Along with a warning about me, right?”

His smile had been slow. And she’d liked the instant heat that had gleamed in his blue eyes. His gaze had matched his name. Piercing. Knowing. He’d sensed trouble from the start but hadn’t been the least put off.

Tears seeped from her eyes. She was aware, but too enmeshed in her memories to care. Their first kiss had happened by accident. They’d just closed another case, handing it off to a pleased DA. She’d invited him to join her at O’Malley’s to celebrate.

He’d seemed amused at how well known she was among the patrons.

Pauly had served her favorite scotch before even asking him for his order.

“This was my dad’s favorite place,” she explained.

He knew who her dad was. Every cop knew the names of their fallen heroes. The fact her father’s luster didn’t pass to her made him curious.

Rather than let him find out from the gossips, she said, “I get the strange cases. The full-moon ones.”

“Why’s that?”

“Low woman on the totem pole?”

“Leland said you had a knack for strange.”

She grimaced. “Leland doesn’t like me much.”

A dark brow arched. A half-smile curved his firm mouth. “I think he likes you, but you’re giving him an ulcer. He liked your dad. Maybe since they worked together in the early days, he thinks he has a duty to set you on the right path.”

She wrinkled her nose. “And there’s the problem. I couldn’t find the right path if it waited at my front door.” She shrugged. “I seem to attract weird.”

Sam’s white teeth flashed. “Why do I feel insulted?”

Her gaze darted to his. “You’re attracted?”

His mouth firmed. “We’re partners. Can’t happen. We’d be reassigned.”

His response set her girlie parts into mild arousal. He could have given a flat “no.”

“Leland might not care—if we kept things on the down low,” she said, dropping her voice into what she hoped was a sultry whisper. “No one else wants to work with me. Why do you think he had to bring you in?”

He finished his drink. “Can I drop you home?”

Cait nodded, mildly insulted he hadn’t responded to her flirting, and disappointed he was letting some pesky rule get in the way of their exploring where their mutual attraction might lead.

Outside, he held the passenger door open, a gesture that was odd given he’d never done that for his partner before. He’d never done a thing to concede to her femininity.

Cait paused, the door separating their bodies. He held so still she worried they’d never be comfortable with each other again. The secret was out. Suppressed desire would only flare hotter. They’d grow more testy with each other the longer they ignored what simmered between them.

Rather than sliding into the car, she rose on tiptoe and leaned against the door to plant a kiss right on his mouth.

Sam didn’t respond. His eyes glittered with quiet fury. An action that inexplicably turned her on even more. Opening her mouth against his, she licked the hard line where his lips met.

Their eyes remained open. Her unspoken challenge was answered by the narrowing of his midnight eyes.

Cait bit his bottom lip.

A chuckle shook his chest. Then his hands rose to cradle her cheeks, a tender gesture that fueled the flame licking at her skin.

Two minutes later, they were wrestling to remove her trousers and shoes in the backseat of his car. She rose over him, straddling his waist. Not until she slid down his cock did they both pause, shocked by the overwhelming arousal that had guided their every move.

“We’ll get this out of our systems,” she said, gliding slowly up, then down.

His hands clamped on her bottom, forcing her to move at a more urgent pace. He leaned up to rub his lips against the pulse throbbing at the side of her neck. “Tomorrow, this never happened,” he growled.

“Agreed,” she said, then groaned because she knew the statement was a lie. Moisture seeped from inside her, easing her movements. She’d never felt like this. Driven, greedy, desperate to claim every thick inch.

After Morin, men hadn’t interested her much, because she’d known they wouldn’t measure up to the memory of the one glorious night they’d shared. But Sam was different.

“You’re so damn tight,” he muttered. “Christ, when’s the last—”

“Shut up,” she said. She hadn’t made love with a man since Morin, and with him, only once. She didn’t want that memory intruding.

Then she couldn’t hold that thought long because sturdy, hung-like-a-god Sam was moving her again, his grip so strong that even though she was on top, he was completely in charge.

Lord, she loved it, wished the rest of their clothes were gone. Caution, the fear of being discovered coupling in a car, two cops fucking like teenagers, was the last thing she was worried about.

How fast could he bring her to orgasm? Now that was a question worth pondering. She kissed him, her hands on his shoulders as she pressed up and down, trying to fight the slower rhythm he wanted. “More, Sam. Faster, God, please.”

“Baby, keep making noises like that and I won’t be able to wait.”

“Who’s asking you to?”

His laugh was husky. “We’re gonna get arrested.”

“Leland’ll have my ass. Be worth every embarrassing minute.” A moan escaped her lips.

And then he slid a hand between their bodies, his broad palm covering her hipbone to hipbone. One calloused pad slid into the top of her folds, rasping her clit.

Cait’s head jerked back; her body went limp. Impaled on his cock, her hips sliding forward and back, grinding her sex against his, she let go, letting the pleasure wash through her, wave after endless wave.

When she came back to herself, Sam had her folded against his chest. His cock was still hard and pulsing inside her.

She lifted her head. “Sorry about that.”

His teeth flashed again. “That you left me behind? Selfish of you.”

They’d sat there, panting hard. And she’d known there was no way this was the one and only time they’d succumb to their longing. However, instead of becoming a distraction for their professional partnership, they’d melded together like a single entity, working like a well-oiled team.

They’d married quietly, telling Leland but not announcing the event widely. Although he’d made noise about splitting up their partnership, the threat was always “After you wrap up this next case.”

Until her past found her. And the voices that had been an ever-present, indistinguishable murmur grew louder and more distinct.

Cait had battled for her sanity the only way she’d known how. She drank, grateful for the peace the alcohol provided, however temporary. The deeper into the bottle she fell, the more Sam had drawn away, confused and hurt.

She’d been unwilling to share the reasons for her fall. And toward the very end, when the voices and drinking became almost constant, she’d been unable to keep it from interfering with her job.

The night a uniformed officer had been killed, she’d heard him calling her toward the shooter. When she’d found Orlando Cruz and drew her gun, she knew there was no going back. She’d told the truth at the administrative hearing that had followed the shooting, about how she’d found Cruz when no one else had known where to look, and damned herself.

Leland had pressed her to resign, to save her father’s name from being tarnished.

Nothing had ever been the same between her and Sam. He’d finally left her for good because she’d stubbornly refused to get help.

Cait rolled onto her side and curled into a ball. “This can’t be it,” she whispered. “We’ve just found each other again. There’s so much left to say.”

Footsteps padded nearby.

“Go away, Morin.”

“Not Morin, sweetheart. But you might want to be nicer to him the next time you see him.”

Cait’s heart stopped. Her head turned to find Sam, dressed in his dress shirt and trousers, striding toward the bed. When he sat on the edge of the mattress, she gasped, because his weight caused it to dip.

She reached out a shaky hand and felt solid muscle wrapped around steely bone. Her heartbeat raced, and she sucked in a breath. If she blinked, would he disappear? “How can this be? Is this real?”

His dark gaze steady, Sam shook his head. “We only have now.”

Her heartbeat continued to thunder inside her chest. “This is his shop. Time stands still.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Gonna stay here forever, Cait?”

Although she knew the lie she spoke, she said the words anyway. “If it means I can have you? Yes.”

Sam’s chest rose around a deep inhalation. “Morin worked a little spell. Drew me here.”

“A summoning.”

“Not quite. For as long as the candle he burns lasts, I’ll be with you.”

Cait drew a ragged breath. “No! It’s not enough.”

Sam swallowed, but then forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Baby, we shouldn’t waste time railing against what we can’t have.”

For as long as Morin’s candle burns. Cait sniffed, then forced away her tears and her denial. She offered Sam a nod, telling him she understood.

He reached and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I love your hair. Love the color, the thickness.”

“Love pulling it,” she said with a little smile.

As his smile deepened, his eyes wrinkled at the corners. “Yeah, I do.” His fingers wrapped around a lock and tugged. Then he smoothed his fingers along her cheek and rubbed his thumb across her lower lip. “First time I met you, I knew I was in trouble. So much fire in your green eyes. So much attitude—every bit of it bad.”

She chuckled, surprised she could manage to laugh. Then her breath hitched. “I was groaning inside. You were too good-looking. A distraction. And the longer we worked together, the harder I struggled to hide the fact you turned me on.”

“I didn’t see you fighting it. Those glances, always so busy checking me out. Wanted to tell you to stop, but then I’d have to admit I’d noticed. Besides, I was doing my own looking too.”

Her strength returning, she pushed up to sit beside him. “I wanted you, but I didn’t expect to fall for you. We were supposed to be nothing but sex. Nothing complicated, but…” Her head dipped as her cheeks grew hot.

Sam smiled and scooted closer. “I tried to keep it light. But the first time I slid inside you, I didn’t want it to end. When you came apart in my arms, your orgasm was so damn beautiful. You were beautiful.” His head bent toward hers, his gaze lingering on her face. “I fell in love with you.”

“I sensed it.” Cait let a small smile tilt her lips. “I was afraid of things getting sticky. But you were always there for me. And you surprised me. Rough sometimes, but so careful. You gave me exactly what I needed to shake me up and pay attention.” She gazed upward, her eyes filling. “I know loving me wasn’t easy,” she whispered, forcing the words through a dry throat.

“No, you’re not easy.” He bent his head and kissed her mouth, letting loose a long sigh that drifted across her mouth and warmed her cheek. “I wouldn’t have respected easy. Our involvement wouldn’t have lasted. You kept things interesting, always changing. I never knew what direction you’d go next. Sometimes, the relationship scared me. Most times, it made me angry, but we both liked the results.”

They smiled, mouths close.

Cait’s eyes blinked to clear her vision. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too. Always.” He closed his eyes. “That candle’s burning.” Sam settled his hands at her narrow waist and smoothed up her shirt.

Although they trembled, she raised her arms and held still while he stripped away her shirt and bra.

He rose and removed the rest of her clothing, and then his own. When he bent again, she opened her arms.

Sam lay down beside her, tucking her gently against his chest. “We should talk.”

She shook her head, not wanting the real world to intrude. Didn’t want the image of his wizened, unrecognizable body intruding. Smoothing her hands over his broad chest, she drew nearer and pressed a kiss on the muscle right over his heart.

“I don’t want you going back there,” he said. “I don’t want you hurt.”

Again, she shook her head. “How can I just walk away after what he did to you?”

Sam’s eyes closed, and he drew a deep breath. “I didn’t feel much. Once I was hurtling through the air, down that hallway, I blacked out. I didn’t feel a thing.”

“Stop.” She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.

“I want you to know I didn’t suffer.”

She leaned closer and pressed her mouth against his to shut him up.

For a split second, his mouth remained firm, but then he groaned and opened, his tongue pushing into her mouth. He rolled over her.

Opening her legs, she welcomed him inside. As he began thrusting, their mouths moved in greedy circles.

Her arms wrapped tightly around his back, fingertips digging into solid muscle. He was so solid, so real. Right here. Now. How would she ever let him go?

A sob ripped through her.

Sam leaned back so he could connect with her gaze, his own softening. “Don’t cry, baby. Please don’t.”

His features blurred, and she blinked fast. “I’m sorry. For everything. For letting you down. For pushing you away. We wasted so much time.”

Sam’s eyes filled and overflowed, a tear dropping onto her cheek. “No regrets, baby. I don’t have even one. Don’t be sorry. You’re the strongest person I know. Stronger than me. You can do this. You can move on.”

Their hips moved together, the sweet coupling deepening. Sam’s body shuddered as he came, and Cait watched his face, committing his features, his changing expressions, to memory.

When he fell against her, he kissed her shoulder. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You always took care of me first. Always.” She caressed his jaw. “Let me give you this. No regrets,” she said, her voice thick and watery.

Despite the shadows around them, the moonlight filling the chamber, she knew the moment had arrived.

A golden flicker of flame shined in his eyes. A sad smile stretched across his face. He withdrew and then gave her one last look, filled with longing and promise. And then his body wisped away, lightening atop her.

Breath caught in her throat, she dropped her arms to the mattress, watching as he faded away.

When she was alone again, she didn’t move. She lay with his scent wrapped around her. Her tears slowly dried on her cheeks. Cait O’Connell sniffed once and then sat at the edge of the bed, reaching toward the floor for her clothing.

“I’m sorry, Cait.” Morin’s voice came from the spiral staircase.

She ignored him, finished putting on her clothes, and then walked toward him. Muscles heavy with sadness, she raised her hand and pointed a level finger at his chest. “I don’t accept this is over. You and I know there are ways. We just have to find one.”

Morin stood rigid for a moment, and then held out his hand.

She pressed her palm in his, accepting a firm squeeze.

She looked him directly in the eye. “There’s something you want, Morin Montague. If you help me, I’ll help you.”

His nod was short, sharp. “I’ll make a pot of tea.”

17

Although time stood still outside Morin’s strange little shop, inside Cait was aware of its passage. Twice, they refilled the oil lamps scattered on the sturdy wooden tables in the library. Once, they stopped to eat roast beef sandwiches made with the fresh-baked loaves that appeared inside his bread bin.

“Reanimating his corpse isn’t feasible,” Morin said, his eyebrows quirking at her dark glare for his frank choice of words. “The thing will be to find some way of preventing his death in the first place.”

A memory popped into her mind. She thought about the elevator door opening to the past. “Or maybe somehow ‘catching’ him when he arrives in the past.”

Morin’s dark brows rose higher. “You’d have to be there—with the demon—when it happens.” Mouth set into a tight line, he shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. You’d simply be caught in the same vortex, your body twisted up with his. Hardly a workable solution.” Morin closed his Book of Shadows, the heavy leather binding giving a thud rather than a snap. “There’s nothing in there.”

Sighing with exasperation, she glanced up from the book she’d been combing through. “Why couldn’t these be written in plain English?”

“They are. Maybe you should have spent more time studying them rather than mooning over me. You wouldn’t have so much trouble translating.”

Frustration gripped her chest, and she frowned. She had to find a way to do this. “Morin, there’s nothing here. Nothing helpful.”

Morin tapped the table with a finger. “Think about the spells you’ve read, the books that describe them. Until someone actually tried it, that spell didn’t exist.”

“But you’ve said so yourself, there’s power in a spell when it’s practiced.” Maybe talking this out would help it make more sense. “The more often the words are spoken, the stronger the spell becomes.”

With slow moves, Morin nodded. “Because the energy of the person doing the casting mingles with the words. The spell is no longer just words but a wish spoken aloud, imbued with a power all its own.”

Cait blew out an exasperated breath. “I can’t wait for a spell of my own making to earn bonus points for every time it’s used. It has to work the first time.”

Morin leaned over the table, his dark eyes sparkling under an arched eyebrow. “So you have to make sure that you are imbued with all the power you can harness.”

She gave her head a shake and rolled her eyes. “Do you ever give it a rest? I’m not getting naked with you again to draw down the moon.”

His chuckle was rich, a jarring sound in the pall that had fallen over them as they’d searched. He sat back, shaking his head. “You’ve already taken everything I can give you. Expended a lot of it. Now you have to be the one to go to the source. The well, so to speak. Draw your own powers, my dear. Draw it from the ether. Wear it as a garment of your own making, not a borrowed cloak.”

“See?” she said, aiming a hard glare his way and crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s the problem. When you speak, poetry is natural. When I try, the words that come out are complete crap.”

“It’s not how pretty the words sound, Cait. It’s the depth of feeling, the energy your emotions give the incantation.” He waved a hand. “But you’re right. This spell is more than words. Because you’ll be defying time and death, you need something to focus the power, an object.”

Cait thought hard. “Like the bellows I used to suck the demon out of Leland?”

“Exactly. Any ideas?”

“This is all about time. About defying it. A watch?” She glanced at her wristwatch with its digital face. Definitely not the candidate. “Something old. With hands.”

“A pocket watch?”

She nodded and then sat back in her chair. Uncertainty edged her thoughts. What powers did she really have? She should have been practicing for this all her life. “Are we kidding ourselves that I can make this work?”

“How much do you love Sam?”

Cait held her breath against the instant tightening in her chest. A tightness that threatened to choke her. Just the mention of his name opened a new wound. “More than anything or anyone. Morin, if this doesn’t work…”

“No more ‘if.’ Doubt will leach away power, corrupt it. And pretty words and a pocket watch aren’t enough. An offering must be made. A proper tincture. Ceremony and pomp. This ritual is important, and you have the time to do this right. The Powers will demand a sacrifice, whether it’s tangible and bloody or simply measured in effort. This is the reason why the gods demand trials.”

“Like Psyche’s trial in the Underworld—”

“Hercules’s twelve labors.”

Naming what she had to do eased her mind. She smiled across the table. “Thanks. I was beginning to panic. Afraid there wasn’t a solution.”

He braced his arms on the table and leaned forward, his gaze intense. “But don’t go thinking that every time you lose something to death that you can drag it back.”

“I know.” She inhaled and let out her breath slowly. “I might have only one shot—if The Powers grant it.”

“They might extract a payment. Some future travail.”

From a distance, the sound of the kettle whistling called.

Morin’s head tilted toward the sound. “I’ll be right back. Be thinking of ingredients, ones that are relevant, symbolic.”

With a task to accomplish, the sense of panic disappeared. She nodded and pulled the lantern closer. The golden light flickered in the glass like it had in Sam’s eyes a moment before he’d faded away.

A movement at the corner of her eye had Cait glancing over her shoulder. But no one was there. “Hello?” she called out, thinking it was too soon for Morin to return.

She was tired and jumpy, that was all. She shook her head and bent over the old book, fingering the edges of its yellowed page.

A breeze, warm and scented with jasmine, brushed against her cheek. Instinctively, she leaned toward the scent. She closed her eyes, remembering her mother’s perfume. “Mama?” she whispered, then opened her eyes, but no figure appeared.

A thump sounded right behind her, and she jumped in her chair, pulse kicking up. Looking back over her shoulder, she spotted a book resting on the floor. Had the breeze dislodged it from the case? She hadn’t been careful replacing books as she’d taken them down, one at a time in her desperate search.

Sighing, she pushed up from the table and walked toward the book. The moment she reached down, the cover flew open, the pages flipped, sounding like the shuffling of a card deck, until one page stood straight up and fell.

Well, that was weird. Cait held her breath, picked up the book, and held it with both hands so she could read the opened page. As her gaze scanned the text, her heartbeat pounded. “Morin!”

“Right here. Hungry again? You only ever sound like that when you’re famished.” Morin stepped closer. “What is it?”

“Read this,” she said, shoving the book at his chest, her finger holding it open to the page.

Morin scanned the words, his features sharpening. He read it again, and when he glanced back up, he said, “That’s it.”

Cait grinned. A tiny kernel of hope bloomed deep inside. But she hesitated to give it a voice.

An answering smile stretched across his face. “I think it might work.”

“And you were right about that watch.”

He shook his head. “I must have read it at some point. Using it makes sense.” His eyes rounded. “Is there still time? The spell must be cast within twelve hours.”

She glanced at her digital watch, which had frozen on the time when she’d entered his shop. “We still have three hours left. I only need a few minutes. I can get back to the hotel and wind it back…”

Morin touched her shoulder, his fingers moving in a light caress. “You know it’s just a chance. Not a certainty.”

“That’s more than I had when I came here.” Feeling like a weight had lifted from her shoulders, she covered his hand with hers and squeezed. “Now, I have hope.”

“I’ll gather ingredients. Looks like we’ll be combining spells—”

“Layering them to make this work. No one size fits all.”

“Casting them will be complicated,” he warned, his gaze narrowed.

“I’m okay with that.”

“You’ll need a helper to make it back.”

“That’s going to be the tricky part. But I’ll worry about it after we’ve got all the parts prepared.” One step at a time.

Morin held still a moment. “I wish I could go with you.”

“If this works, we’ll know there’s hope for you too. We just need the right combination.” She emphasized her words, wanting her mentor to share in the new potential.

“The right sequencing.”

The painful knot that had lodged securely in her chest the moment she’d lost Sam in the fog eased.

A soft wistfulness crossed Morin’s face. “I’m glad I’m the one helping you, Cait. I’ve missed you.”

Cait gave him a faint smile, not ready to rush into his arms by any stretch of the imagination. Morin was still Morin. Flawed. Selfish. Clever.

“I’ll hold up my end of the bargain,” she murmured.

He winced. “I swear I wasn’t thinking about that. Not that I’m a huge fan of Sam Pierce. But I recognize how much you need him in your life. He gives you balance. Holds your feet to the ground.”

“Sam’s not up for discussion with you, Morin. I don’t mean to be rude, but you and I, we have a past.” She looked past his shoulder, her gaze focused on the wall of books. “I’m just not comfortable talking about him with you.”

“And Sam wouldn’t approve,” he murmured slowly, shaking his head. “He wasn’t too happy that mine was the first face he saw when I summoned him. Said he wondered if he’d landed in Hell.”

A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“He couldn’t move fast enough getting to you. Forced me to shout my warnings about how long he had.”

“How did that spell work anyway? I didn’t know it could be done, bringing someone back to life.”

Morin shrugged. “You know that some cultures believe it’s possible for a soul to become corporeal for short periods of time. Usually shamans or witches casting to allow a spirit to walk for one day.”

“Like Día de Los Muertos.”

Morin nodded. “Sam’s still tethered to this world. Dragging him in wasn’t hard. Now, making him physical again… Well, that took real magic. I’ll show you sometime.”

Cait thought about his offer but then shook her head. “I might skip that lesson. Too tempting. Next thing you know, I’d be reanimating vics to find out who killed them.”

“And spells that strong always take a toll.” Morin’s mouth drew a thin line, and his gaze fell away. “I’ll find the watch.” He turned to move to the other side of the shop.

“Hey, something strange happened. I didn’t find that passage by myself.”

Looking over his shoulder, he spoke as his brows rose high. “Oh?”

“The book fell off the shelf, and the pages opened to that precise page.” She rested a hand on her hip. “Do you know anything about that?”

Morin shrugged. “Heavenly intervention?”

“You don’t believe in Heaven.”

He cleared his throat. “No, I don’t. Perhaps we should save this discussion for another time?” He turned again and hurried toward the staircase.

Cait’s gaze followed him, narrowing. She left the library, winding her way behind the shelves to the small kitchen in the back. The kettle sat on a trivet next to Morin’s earthen pot. She touched the side of the pot, found it still warm, and then took two cups and saucers from his cupboard. Holding a strainer over each cup, she poured the tea. She added honey to hers, a splash of milk to his. Then she glanced at the worktable where the rose quartz crystal ball sat.

He’d said the ball needed charging. If she failed in her quest, at least he’d be able to watch her actions and tell Celeste what had happened.

She walked to the table and picked up the ball from where it sat atop a three-legged silver stand. At the first contact, her palms tingled. Curious now, she walked to the gas stove, turned a knob to light a burner, and held the ball in front of it to watch the flame flicker in the rosy depths.

“Are you here, Mama?” she whispered, casting a glance over her shoulder to make sure Morin hadn’t snuck into the room. The last thing she wanted him to know was that she felt drawn to look. He seemed to think any witch would be eager to expand her skills. The fact she’d turned her back on magic for so long was unfathomable to him. Power was to be embraced, celebrated, envied, according to Morin.

But Cait wasn’t drawn to magic because of any power it might bring to her. Magic was a tool. If misused, it was a dangerous one. Not something she would ever take for granted. She’d seen the damage magic could do.

Her mother had ended her own life, by accident, leaving Cait alone to fend for herself and filled with loathing for the man who’d instigated the spell. She’d only lately acknowledged that Morin wasn’t completely to blame. Cait thought maybe some of that loathing was misplaced. Her mother had taken matters into her own hands and tried to perform a powerful spell.

Had she simply poisoned herself? Or had The Powers decided she’d overstepped her bounds? The possibility was something to consider as she moved forward with her own plan to conquer a demon and defy natural law to take back what had been stolen.

Flames flickered brighter in her ball, and she leaned closer, watching the red and orange light flicker and then swirl, the ball bending light in the natural occlusions of the rock, blending the flame with its pink hues, then flaring again.

She half expected the ball to grow hot but held it comfortably in her grasp, turning it to watch the display of blending light.

“I should ask a question, shouldn’t I?” she asked the ball.

Light continued swirling in seemingly natural movements, apparently unimpressed.

“You don’t like ambiguous questions, do you? I should be more specific. Did my mother show me the book?”

No answer magically appeared, not by vision or changing color.

“Don’t like yes-and-no questions,” she mused. What else could be accomplished by a scrying ball? “Show me the moment.”

The center of the ball darkened, the colors growing murky. Slowly, a picture formed in dancing shadow and light—of her, cheeks a faint rose flame, her eyes flickering green.

Behind her stood a shadow, a figure peering over her shoulder, with long hair trailing downward as she bent.

Her mother. Cait had no doubt from the slender frame and the particular cant of her head. A pose she’d seen often as Lorene O’Connell bent over the kitchen counter while she cut vegetables or ground ingredients for a spell.

Cait held her breath as the figure whipped around, glided gracefully to the bookcase, and lifted a finger to curl over the spine and tip the book to the floor.

“Did you find any answers, Cait?”

Surprise ripped a gasp from her throat. She nearly dropped the ball, lowering it to her waist as she met Morin’s lazy smile. “You wanted me to charge it.”

“I didn’t ask you to. I merely mentioned I couldn’t watch.”

“Well, now you can.”

“No need to get snippy.” His mouth twisted in a rueful smile.

Cait walked back to the workbench and gently replaced the ball on its silver stand. No flames swirled, no colors other than its soft pink hues glinted back.

“Did you see her?”

Cait shot him a glance. “You know my mother’s here?”

A shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I’ve felt her presence. Smelled jasmine at times. She’s here.”

“Why here?” Irritation tightened her hands and she forced them to relax. “Why not with me?”

“I can’t answer that.”

Before she could stop herself, she vented her frustration. “Why doesn’t she show herself to me? I talk to strange ghosts, ones I never met in life. Why not her?”

“Perhaps that’s the question you should ask the ball.”

Cait shook back her hair. “Did you find the watch?”

He held out his hand. A man’s gold pocket watch sat in the center of his palm.

“Is it gold?”

“It’s valuable, yes.”

“A sacrifice?”

“For me. Not you.”

She picked up the watch and stared at the white mother-of-pearl face. The gold hands that clicked through the seconds. The ornate engravings of vines and grapes that surrounded the clock face. “Where did you get it?”

He shrugged. “I’ve forgotten, it’s been so long.”

Not for one second did she believe him, but she let it go. “How do I charge it? If I do it now, will the energy last?”

“Not here.” He shook his head, his dark hair waving against his cheeks. “Charge it once you’re in the hotel. Perhaps even in the elevator. No use letting any energy dissipate before you put it to work.”

That’s what I figured. She tucked the watch into a front pocket of her jeans. “Your tea’s getting cold.” She picked up her own cup and saucer and headed back into Morin’s shop, straight toward his apothecary’s counter, sipping as she walked because urgency built inside her again.

She stepped behind the counter and scanned the shelves and drawers. “Have you rearranged anything?”

“If I had, everything would be exactly where it was the next time I looked.”

“Then simple answer, no.”

While she slid open small cubby drawers to peer inside, Morin gathered other items: a set of scales, a mortar and pestle, small vials, and a tin of charcoal.

“I’ll package together everything for each part,” he said, reaching for a basket underneath the counter. “Having bundles will make casting simpler for you once you arrive at the hotel.”

Ignoring the scale, Cait added pinches and handfuls of dried herbs into the mortar. She broke off a chip of benzoin resin, and the scent of vanilla drifted up to her nose. Then she used a knife to cut a chip of frankincense into the mix to mask the aromas of the herbs she blended, lest the demon figure out what she was up to before she could put everything into play. With the pestle she pushed her hand with a twisting motion and ground the ingredients together.

“I’m adding a bowl and paraffin to your basket.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, wetting her finger then touching her blended spell. She sniffed, liked the mingled scents, and then tasted it. An acrid tingle on her tongue. She made a face and wiped her fingers on her jeans. She wasn’t sure why she’d felt the need to taste and sniff, but a feeling of satisfaction filled her.

Instinct guided her, and instinct said the mixture was complete.

Next, she packaged ingredients for the spell to trap the demon, dropping them into a hemp bag.

Morin handed her a wine bottle filled with water. She wrapped it in paper and snuggled it safely into the basket.

“That everything?” he asked, leaning an elbow on the counter.

Scanning the immediate area, she nodded. “I hope so.”

Morin raised a finger. “You need a mirror.”

Cait felt a shiver slither down her spine. “I hate mirrors,” she said, remembering how she’d found Henry Prudoe’s body in one and how she’d broken another after trapping a demon inside it.

“I know. But when you face the demon, he won’t be able to look anywhere but at himself.”

She held still, thinking about what Morin said. When she’d faced the demon who had possessed Leland, he had first greeted her from inside the mirror. She’d thought he was hiding to prevent Sam from seeing him, but maybe his action meant more than that.

Morin rummaged through a cabinet and pulled out a small handheld mirror, the kind a lady might have used to primp in her boudoir.

“It’s tiny,” Cait said doubtfully. “How’s that going to hide me?”

“It’s not the size that matters.”

Biting back a snort, she arched a brow. “When is that ever true?”

Morin laughed.

Cait tucked the mirror into the basket, then covered the basket with a cloth. She had everything she needed. She strode around the counter. As her gaze met her mentor’s, she opened her arms. He’d come through for her again. She owed him now.

Morin smiled, stretching out to accept her quick hug. “Good luck,” he whispered against her hair.

“I’ll need it.” She tightened her embrace one more time and then stepped back, lifted the basket into her arms, and sighed. “Know a spell to summon a cab?”

He shook his head. “Say a prayer to The Powers. Something will turn up.”

He left unsaid, If it’s meant to be…

18

Cait tipped the driver and gave him her thanks. Then she stepped down, shaking her head at the irony of arriving at the hotel in a horse-drawn carriage. Faster than walking, but still the plodding gait of the single horse had nearly driven her crazy.

Who but she would find a horse-drawn carriage traveling down Beale Street in the early morning hours?

The driver had said he’d been hired for a special event that lasted hours longer than the term of his contract. Not that he minded, as he’d been well paid for his efforts. Both he and his horse were tired, and he was happy for her company as they made their way back to the stables, seeing as how he was headed her way anyway. The old man with a thick white beard was dressed in “royal” livery and driving a carriage with Christmas lights winding around a pumpkin-shaped metal frame.

Discounting what the carriage looked like, Cait didn’t feel like Cinderella arriving at the ball, although her boots did pinch because she’d been wearing them so long. She waved to the driver and patted the horse’s hindquarters, watching for a moment as they clomped down the street and around the corner.

Then, tucking the basket’s handle into the crook of her arm, she eyed the hotel, hoping everyone was sleeping. Especially the demon in the walls.

Once again, she stood in the shadows opposite the hotel, the smell of garbage filling her nose. Streetlights popped and fizzled, lightening then darkening her surroundings, their intermittent hum seeming to enter her body and sizzle along her nerve endings. A taunt she didn’t need. All too well, she remembered the stinging feel of the lash of the demon’s electrified whip. She worried about the coming danger, worried she wouldn’t be strong enough or brave enough to carry out what she had to do.

The last time she’d faced a demon, she’d had Sam and Jason covering her back. This time, she’d be going it alone. That is, unless she could find the one person whose loyalty she would have to sway to help her.

If she failed, she needn’t worry about aftermaths. She’d be dead. And glad of it. For living without Sam in her life was unimaginable. Even if bringing him back didn’t solve their problems, didn’t keep them together, just knowing he was nearby, somewhere in the same city—that he was healthy and breathing, that he might find some happiness for himself—would be enough to get her through the rest of her days.

At that thought, her eyes filled, and she allowed herself one last bout of tears. One last moment of weakness. Before she was a PI or a witch, she was a woman who had also, briefly, been a wife. Not a good one, not by any definition. But she’d known for a time the experience of sharing her bed and her dreams with another living soul.

Cait closed her eyes and summoned Sam’s image to keep it in the forefront of her mind—dark hair, strong jaw, ripped body, and that intense blue stare—to keep her strong.

Drawing a deep breath, she stared hard at the tall exterior of the hotel, telling the demon in her mind that she was there. That he had better be ready for a fight. Because she wasn’t leaving without her husband.

A police cruiser was parked in front of the hotel. Something, and probably several someones, she’d forgotten might pose a problem. She pulled her phone from her pocket and tapped a number.

“Hughes here,” came a groggy voice.

“Leland?”

“That you, Cait? What are you doin’ callin’ me at this time of morning?” Still absent was his usual bluster. In its place was something softer.

Hearing his tone, she nearly teared up again. “I need a favor, Leland. Still got cops on the elevators and on the stairwell doors leading to the third floor?”

“You at the hotel?” he asked, his voice sharpening.

“I’m outside. And it’s time.”

She didn’t say for what, but he must’ve figured out something big was about to go down. He stayed silent so long.

Braced, she waited, but he didn’t tell her she had no business being there. Instead, he asked in an even tone, “Jason with you?”

“No. This is something I have to do alone.”

“Dammit, Cait. I can’t find another body in the walls. Not yours. Sam wouldn’t stand for it.”

Pain pierced her chest at the mention of her ex’s protectiveness. “Sam’s dead. I have to finish this.”

After a long pause, Leland sighed. “You tricked up with something powerful?”

“I have a basketful of something powerful.”

“I’d wish you luck, but I know you.” He exhaled a long breath. “You won’t need it.”

As close to a vote of confidence as she would ever hear from him.

“If things go sideways…” she said softly, unable to express her feelings. For all his bluster and irritation, she knew he cared about her.

“Yeah, I know, Cait. Do your daddy proud. And your mama. And don’t get dead.”

Her gaze lingered on the cruiser, and she smiled wistfully. “Take care of the officers for me?”

“Calling them as soon as I hang up.”

She ended the call, checked her watch, and then stepped out from the shadows.

Avery Lewis stood in the center of the foyer as she entered. Did he ever sleep?

“You’re up late,” she said, drawing as near as she dared. She kept her expression relaxed, hoping she didn’t betray she knew exactly what he was.

“Didn’t figure I’d see you here again after what happened earlier.” His brows wrinkled. “You have a death wish or something?”

“Mr. Lewis, I think you’ll understand if I couldn’t sleep thinking about it. I lost someone today. Someone I cared about.”

His expression didn’t change. No sly hint of satisfaction at the grief she suffered. No hint of curiosity about what she was doing there now.

“The lieutenant has the third floor blocked,” he said. “No elevators. No stairwell access. It’s all locked up tight.”

An officer strode toward them, a hand lifted in greeting. “I have that key to the elevator, Ms. O’Connell.”

She offered a slight smile to the manager and patted her basket. “I’m assembling a little altar. The LT gave his approval. Since no one’s stirring, no one will be disturbed. I won’t be long.”

His eyes narrowed. “You be careful up there, miss.”

“Thanks for your concern,” she murmured, then stepped past him, not liking the fact she had to walk away while he glared daggers at her back.

The officer stepped to the elevators and inserted a key into the control panel. The doors slid open on one car.

“Guard the doors,” she said, her gaze slipping to the foyer. “No one goes up after me. No matter what anyone might hear.”

Although his eyes glittered with curiosity, he gave her a nod. “Yes, ma’am. The LT said to give you whatever you needed but to stay back.”

“That was good advice.”

He shook his head, his steady gaze reflecting doubt. “Strange goings-on up there, ma’am. You be careful.”

She gave him a faint smile and stepped into the car. The doors slid shut. Reaching across to the panel, she hit the button for the third floor.

The car shimmied and then began its ascent, the hum of gears accompanying the slow trip upward.

She gauged the timing and hit the stop switch a second before the doors would have opened on the third floor.

Bending, she placed the basket on the floor. She pulled the watch from her jeans pocket and stared down at the gleaming glass face as a tiny golden hand ticked through the seconds. Twelve hours were reflected on the face. If the charged watch worked, she would only have the opportunity to change something that had happened within the past twelve hours. She couldn’t rewind time any longer than that to save any other victims. Madame Xavier and Sylvia were lost forever.

A pang of regret went through her, and she slid it to one side of her mind. Focus on what you can do. Sam and the cop who’d had the misfortune to pull duty on the third floor were the only ones she might be able to help.

The gold housing warmed in her hand, seeming to pulse. Pulling down the neck of her shirt, she placed the glass face against her chest, right above her heart.

Cait cleared her mind, concentrating on taking slow, even breaths. She thought about what she hoped to achieve, running through the sequence, then forming images of Sam in his crisp dress shirt, his eyes alert and questioning, his body standing straight and tall. Fully alive.

Then she rewound, in her mind, the moments before his death, and played them forward, dreaming of catching him when he came through the vortex to the other side. Her arms surrounding him, cushioning him as they fell together to the hotel room floor. “I need only a minute, maybe two,” she whispered. “Grant me this wish, and I will embrace everything I am. I’ll practice… I’ll pray.”

The watch warmed and then seemed to vibrate. The ticking grew louder and slowed, matching the rhythm of her heartbeats. For another moment, she simply stood, letting the sound fill her chest. Letting peace seep into her body to quiet her thoughts.

She placed the watch on the floor beside the basket and took out the brass bowl, poured small chunks of charcoal into the bottom, and doused them with lighter fluid. With the strike of a match she lit the coals, fanning them with a hand. Smoke billowed up, emitting a sharp smell, but then died away. The coals glowed. She unstoppered the first vial and sprinkled the ingredients she’d ground together at Morin’s, listening to them crackle and pop atop the hot coals as a sweet-scented smoke arose. She hoped like hell the smoke filling the elevator car didn’t trigger a fire alarm but pushed aside that worry to concentrate again.

A moment of doubt made her hesitate. The words don’t matter, she reminded herself. Then she straightened, surrounded by herbal smoke, and addressed The Powers.

“Elementals, hear me, your servant,

Humbled by loss,

Strengthened by purpose.

Render this door a portal to unseal,

Time unraveled,

The past revealed.”

Cait bent and picked up the pocket watch and clicked the button at the side of the face to pop up the glass. She touched a delicate hand and moved it counterclockwise until the time reflected the moment of Sam’s death, then she moved it again to two minutes before.

She clipped the glass shut, shoved it into her pocket, and reached into the basket again, this time for the bottled water. With several shakes, she doused the coals. Again, she lifted the basket.

Cait straightened in front of the doors and closed her eyes, saying a quick prayer for all to go well. “Please, please let this work,” she whispered, then flicked the stop switch. The doors whooshed open.

Her heart stopped, then thudded hard against her chest at the sight of wine-and-gold paisley wallpaper, dark red carpet, and shiny brass plates on the room doors opposite the elevator.

Relief rushed through her. She stepped out.

“I wondered if you’d figure out a way. What a clever girl.”

Alarmed, Cait’s gaze whipped toward Eddie Bradley, who leaned a shoulder on a nearby wall.

The doors began to slide closed. He reached to clap his hand against the doors to hold them open. “Are you sure you want these doors to close? You might not make it back.”

“Your master killed Sam.”

His eyelids flickered. His stare grew solemn. “I’m sorry for that.”

“I won’t kill you if you help me. There’s no time for discussion.”

His mouth twitched. “What do you want me to do?”

“Exactly what you’re doing now. Keep those doors open until I get back. Shouldn’t take me long.”

“You’d trust me to do this for you?”

She rounded on him and glared. “You don’t know what I’m capable of. Have no clue how far I’d go to hunt you down. I’ll spare nothing if you betray me. I’ll show not one single ounce of remorse.”

Eddie’s lips twisted in a snarl. “He found me trolling for a new meal in his bar downstairs. He said he had the power to make sure I’d never leave the hotel alive. That I had to surrender my soul into his keeping. ’Til death do us part. All he had to do was flash a little lightning, and I caved.” He flashed her a strained smile. “There’s no divorce between demons. If you kill him, you’ll free me, and I’ll be in your debt. Forever.”

“I don’t want a demon owing me anything. But I’ll let you slip away. So long as you behave. Agree to take only what you need to survive from the women you prey on, and I’ll let you keep breathing.”

He nodded, and then jerked his head toward the hallway. “He’s in the room. Something’s up. He never goes there unless he’s pulling someone through to make a meal of.”

She gave him a hard smile. “Thanks. You wait for me.”

Without another word, she tucked her basket against her belly and sped down the hall.

Something was happening, all right. Lights flickered. The dreaded humming vibrated in the air. The hairs on her arms prickled and lifted.

She stopped at the door and plucked the mirror from the basket. Holding it in front of her face, she hoped like hell Morin wasn’t wrong. Sucking in a deep breath, she turned the handle and entered.

Avery Lewis stood in front of the wall, a younger version of himself, brown hair touching his collar, geeky glasses perched on his nose. His arms moved in a circular motion, and the walls were only beginning to liquefy.

At the click of the door closing, he turned his head.

She held her breath, glancing around the mirror to watch as his head canted and his eyes narrowed. Not daring to breathe, she waited as he stared at the mirror for a second, then blinked and returned his attention to the vortex that was beginning to swirl in front of him.

Cait edged quietly to the bed and set down her basket on the floor beside it, unfolding the cover with one hand while continuing to hold up the mirror.

A cackle sounded. A dry sound that grated on her nerves. His arms continued circling, widening, then pulling back. The wall disappeared, the space in front of him darkening, filling with a milky, swirling cloud of gray and white that flickered with touches of light.

The demon shaped the cloud with his hands, forming an ever-widening cone. Lightning flashed through the opening, a deadly arc tapping his hands and then wrapping around them. He pulled it like a rope, grabbing the jagged bolt to tug it hand over hand into the room, where it flicked up to the ceiling, tapping its way around, searching for ground.

Wind whipped inside the room, charged with static electricity that raised gooseflesh and hair. Cait ducked down beside the bed, her gaze going from the jagged flicking bolt back to the swirling vortex.

Two large shapes glowed in the center, attached to the end of the lightning rope. Sam and the uniformed cop dropped to the floor in front of Avery, their clothing sparkling with little embers of fire, steam rising on their hair and skin. Their bodies were held rigid, their eyes wide open. They were breathing, aware.

Sam had lied. He suffered. He knew what was happening but was helpless, held in rigor as the demon hovered over him.

With her fingers wrapped in a death grip around the mirror’s handle, Cait stood poised, waiting for the right moment to spring forward.

But another shape glowed in the opening and stepped through. The older Mr. Lewis, his face animated, edges sharp and cruel, stepped out of the wall and bent toward his captives. “Quickly! We haven’t time to savor our kill.” He glanced over his shoulder to the room visible at the end of the swirling funnel. “They’ll be upon me soon.”

If she’d blinked at that moment, she would have missed the transformation of the two Averys. Their skin darkened to a dull, storm-cloud gray, the surface mottled and rippling like burn scars. Their bodies curved, shoulders hunching, then lowering as they dropped to all fours. Their mouths stretched, jagged rows of teeth sliding from widening jaws that took up most of their faces.

They each took a man, rolling him on his back, then urgently pawing away the clothing covering his abdomen.

With their attention drawn to the men whose hard spasms caused their hands and heels to clatter on the floor, slowing the demons’ efforts as they stripped them, she dropped the mirror. Legs weak, she slid down beside the bed, reached for the basket, and withdrew the wine bottle already filled with holy water. She pulled out the cork and quickly reached into the basket for the hemp bag filled with rose thorns, pricking her fingers in her haste.

Her teeth chattered as she counted out thirteen and dropped them into the bottle. Then she pushed against the bed and stood.

The creatures’ large mouths were lifted, eyes closed as they let loose howls. The moment before their heads bent to rip into the captured men’s stomachs, she leapt beside them.

“Stop!” she shouted, holding the bottle in front of her.

Both creatures pivoted to face her, eyes glowing a bright fiery orange. They each took two steps, noses lifting to catch her scent.

Cait fought the fear caging her diaphragm and dragged in a deep breath. She raised the bottle higher and took a step back.

The beasts rocked backward on their haunches, then sprang forward.

She waved her arm in a wide arc, shaking the holy water from the bottle. “I banish you,” she shouted, then leapt to the side, out of their path.

The water sprayed, splashing against the demons as they hit the wall where she’d been standing. They bounced off it, shaking their heads and howling as droplets sizzled on their skin, burning through. Fire flickered around the edges of wounds, which widened, eating at their flesh to reveal a gray gelatinous interior that melted to the carpet, the stench of sulfur rising in the air.

Cait reached for the bag and grabbed more rose thorns, cramming them with shaking hands into the bottle. Then she held the mouth of it to the edge of the gray goo.

“With thorn and blood, water and will,

I banish you to the bottle.

With thorn and blood, water and will…”

Not eloquent. But the spell worked. Over and over, she repeated the incantation, until, with a long slurp, the final bit of goo rushed inside the bottle.

Cait scrambled for the cork, stoppered the bottle, and then tossed it quickly into the basket. “Holy shit. Oh shit!”

With the wind whirling in the room slowly dying away, her legs gave way, and she sank to the floor, rocking on her knees.

“Cait?”

His voice. Hoarse but familiar. The voice she never thought she’d hear again. Her Sam was alive. Eyes burning, she lifted her head, craning her neck to glance toward him.

He was on his knees, his bare, reddened chest heaving. “What the fuck? What are you doing here?”

She almost smiled—Sam being alpha meant all was right with the world. “I’m here saving your ass.” Tears brimmed her eyelids and poured out.

With slow, jerking moves, he crawled toward her and gathered her in his arms.

She slid her wet cheek against his chest, listening to the dull but wonderful sound of his heart beating.

“Leland let you out of his sight?” he asked, his voice muffled and thick.

“I came with his blessing.”

“Me and him have to have a talk.” He pressed a kiss against her hair. “Do you… do we have a way back?”

She glanced up and across the room. The wall was once again solid.

A groan sounded behind Sam, and she leaned around for a look. “Officer…”

“Mills,” the policeman said, staring down at his reddened chest. “Thanks, I think.”

Her lips twitched. But then she jerked away from Sam. “We have to get to the elevator. Now. Can you two walk?”

Sam grimaced but pushed up from the floor. For a second, he swayed on his feet, then moved to the other officer, holding out a hand to grab his arm and help him up.

Cait snagged the bottle from the basket and went to the door. “Quickly, before he gets to thinking my threat was a little empty.”

“Not even gonna ask,” Sam muttered.

As fast as the two men could move with shambling steps, they made their way down the hallway to the elevator.

Eddie straightened when he saw them approach, his foot wedged against one side of the doors to hold the car open. His glance took in their odd appearance. “Almost decided you weren’t coming.”

“Good thing you waited,” she said, keeping her voice hard although the effort drained her.

Sam glared, his chest expanding as he realized who the man was. Then his head turned toward her. “You put your trust in him?”

“Gimme some credit. I threatened him with all my powers,” she said, waggling her eyebrows.

Sam groaned. “This time, your ass’ll be sore for a week.”

Eddie chuckled, standing aside with a hand holding the door as they passed.

When the three of them were in the car, he stepped back.

“Not coming with us?” she asked, solely out of politeness, because she knew she was going to have her hands full with explanations.

Eddie shrugged. “I feel a little safer here.” He leaned toward her, his gaze sweeping her head to toe with a lustful glint in his eyes. “Sure you don’t want to stay behind too?”

With a sudden push, Cait shoved his hand off the door. The doors whooshed closed to the sound of his laughter. She hit the button for the first floor.

The elevator shimmied downward. When next the doors opened, the view was of a quiet foyer.

Cait stepped out, glanced around, and then let out a relieved breath. Same shitty place she’d left.

A commotion sounded from the stairwell.

Leland slammed through the door, eyes wild, Jason on his heels.

When Leland spotted them, he stiffened and adjusted his tie. “See you found Sam.” His nose wrinkled. “They need to fumigate that third floor. Smell of rotten eggs comin’ out of the vents. And I’m not done with that TV crew. Get the footage. I don’t want anything more leakin’ out on YouTube.”

Cait nodded, realizing they were back to the moments after the room had filled with noxious fumes and she’d lost sight of Sam. Back to the horrible moment—but with a much happier outcome. Her throat tightened.

Leland didn’t know he’d shown her his softer side. No one knew that Sam had died. Maybe Morin would, from his timeless shop. Only she understood how close they’d all come to a terrible, permanent loss.

Her heart throbbed, which meant Sam wouldn’t remember their encounter in Morin’s bedroom loft.

Well, damn. Back to square one. And with the gleam of retribution burning in his gaze, she guessed she was lucky all he wanted was a pound of flesh. Or to pound hers, anyway.

In anticipation, her bottom winced.

“This thing over?” Sam asked, eyeing the bottle in her hand.

Cait held it up. The goo inside was moving. Still alive. “I’m not sure where to dispose of this.”

“I’m assuming… demon?” At her nod, he asked, “Want it in the office safe?”

Sitting in the safe right beside the pail where another demon was trapped in silvery splinters of glass? She’d have to get with Morin to figure out how best to safely get rid of the remnants. She’d been too busy to get rid of the first demon.

“You two heading to O’Malley’s to celebrate?” Jason asked.

Sam rubbed his naked chest. “I need a shirt.”

A slow grin stretched Cait’s mouth. “I think I can rustle up something.”

19

Sam leveled a deadly glare on Cait, who hadn’t stopped smirking since they’d taken their seats at O’Malley’s. He rolled his shoulders one at a time, trying to stretch his new garment. The Reel PIs T-shirt fit snug across his chest.

He pretended annoyance at her amusement, but inside he couldn’t be happier. They’d both come through the dangerous crisis. Cait had vanquished yet another demon, and they were both alive to celebrate that fact, something he didn’t think he’d ever take for granted again. He’d come close, and remembered the dread certainty he’d felt the moment he’d been jerked through the hallway, tethered by a lightning bolt burning around his wrist.

He held out his hand. Not a mark on his arm. Just sunburned skin that looked like he’d spent a little too much time in a tanning bed.

Pauly slid glasses of ice-filled cola across the table. “Anything else I can bring you?” he asked, eyeing Sam’s red face. “Some aloe vera?”

Sam gave him a grumpy glare, and Pauly strode away, chuckling.

Cait sat beside her Sam, her body snuggled as close as she could manage without sitting in his lap. She’d been clingy ever since they’d left the hotel, unwilling to let him out of her sight. Not that he minded. When she’d scooted close, he’d lifted his arm to bring her in. He needed the tactile reassurance she was unharmed. He didn’t care that they had an audience.

Jason and Leland were crammed together in the opposite bench seat, Leland having been a last-minute addition to their party.

Sam had been surprised, Leland shocked, when Cait had strode over to Leland and leaned up to give his cheek a kiss and offer him the invitation to join them.

“Couldn’t have done it without your help,” she’d said, although neither he nor Leland understood the comment.

Still, he appreciated the opportunity to relax. Nice to breathe in the familiar scents of the bar.

“Really need to do something with your hair, Cait,” Jason said, waggling his eyebrows.

Her hair was poofy again, lifting a couple of inches off her scalp.

Sam grinned, relieved they’d all managed to get out of the hotel alive. He shuddered at the memory of the stinging lightning lash pulling him through a dark, crowded hole. When he’d landed sprawled on the floor along with the officer, he’d been unable to move, rigid with shock.

The unlikely sight of his ex-wife standing behind Lewis and his doppelganger demon had caused his heart to seize for just a moment. Confusion and fear cleared as he realized they hadn’t seen her and that she had a plan, although waving a wine bottle hadn’t seemed like a brilliant one at first.

Cait, hair lifting with the static crackling in the air, had seemed like a superhero, nearly fearless, until he’d heard the tension in her voice and noted the whites of her eyes were large in her face.

So Cait had at least an ounce of self-preservation. She’d been scared to death.

Maybe she was being more careful. Sam reached into her lap and curled a hand around hers, giving it a squeeze.

Cait squeezed Sam’s hand right back, not pausing in her retelling of mostly everything that happened in her explanation of how she’d defeated the demons.

“There were two Lewises. I didn’t know that fact until the other one crawled out of the vortex. One young, one older. I don’t know if they were halves of the same demon, his past and future selves, or whether they were father and son.” Her hand waved. “Doesn’t much matter, I guess. They’re in pretty snug quarters now. I was a little afraid that part of them might still be attached to the walls, but I think once they were both trapped in the bottle, with that vortex closed behind them, I got everything.”

“No chance of them popping the cork?” Jason asked, staring at the wine bottle sitting in the center of their table.

Cait wrinkled her nose. “Not if the spell holds.” One problem at a time.

Sam tapped the bottle, and they all watched as the goo swirled inside. “What was up with the roses? The thorns and petals?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “My mom used to say roses are pure. Their perfume impossible for otherkin to resist. You use roses to attract fairies to your garden.”

Jason’s jaw sagged a bit. “Fairies exist?”

“I don’t know. It’s a story I found in a book.”

Sam grunted. “Like the golden apples?”

Cait glanced at him from beneath the dark fringe of her eyelashes, a blush heating her cheeks. “The apples really work, silly.” At his lopsided grin, she narrowed her eyes. “You’re teasing me. I don’t know if I can handle a Sam with a sense of humor.”

Sam’s jaw tightened, and his body stiffened. “So, you’re telling me you faced a demon with a bottle and rose bits, and you didn’t have a clue whether the spell would work?”

He wasn’t exactly shouting, but the tension in his deep rumbling voice sent warning shivers down her spine. She shrugged nonchalantly. “Someone has to create a spell. They don’t just exist, ready to be plucked from the air. A spell has to begin somewhere.”

Jason didn’t seem to notice Sam’s growing anger. “How did you step back in time?”

She cleared her throat and looked across the table. “An offering of incense, a complicated mixture of herbs and resins, and a really bad poem. The Powers That Be heard me. They opened a portal in time.” The one ingredient she carefully omitted was her vow.

“And you depended on an incubus to hold the door open so you could get back.” Jason shook his head. “That took some balls.”

“All in a day’s work,” she said lightly as Sam’s fist crunched around hers. “It couldn’t not work.”

Leland took a sip of his cola, made a face, and set it down. “So how did you manage all that in under a minute—because I know you were just in front of me, runnin’ through the door. But when I got to the hallway, you’d disappeared. I checked 323, found it empty, then hotfooted it down the stairs after I noticed the elevator descendin’.”

Apprehension thudded in her belly. Cait dropped her glance and sat quietly while all the men’s gazes trained on her. Not for love or money would she ever tell them the nightmare she’d lived.

Sam would just have to accept there was one little secret she’d never tell.

Jason came to her rescue, holding up the bottle and scooting off his seat. “I’ll get this back to the office and lock it up tight.”

Leland gave Cait a hard glare but must have sensed she was never going to fess up the rest of the story. He scooted across the bench seat and gave her another look, one that almost seemed admiring. “You take care, Cate,” he said, his voice gruff, and then he winked.

Cait’s eyes widened, and she fought back a surprised gasp. But she guessed if she could shock him with a kiss, he could pay her back with a wink.

“Don’t blow up anything,” he quipped as he followed Jason out the door.

“You ready to go?” Sam asked, a hint of dark, sexy promise in his drawl.

“Will you distract Pauly with a conversation while I say good-bye to my other friends?”

Sam glanced around at the roomful of empty stools and booths. “Ah. Daddy’s here?”

She nodded. “With Sylvia. I’m sure they’ve been all ears.”

“Be quick,” he said, sliding from his seat. “And tell Syl she’s not welcome in our bedroom.”

Cait grinned.

“Mmm-mm,” Sylvia said, smacking her lips as she scooted across the bench. “I can see why joo’d face demons for that man.”

Her dad sat down, his expression a little drawn. “I was worried about you. Looks like you and Morin found a solution.”

Cait tilted her head. “Wait. You know?”

“That you managed to rewrite your personal history? Yes.” His gaze slid to Sam, standing at the bar. “I’m happy for you. But also a little worried.”

Cait released a long breath, and her gaze searched her dad’s face. “Morin warned me there’s always a price.” She lifted her shoulders. She wasn’t afraid of any downside to the magic she’d used. Not as long as she had Sam. “I don’t care. I’ll pay whatever when the time comes.”

Hours later, Cait rested her sweaty cheek against Sam’s equally moist chest, seeking reassurance this hadn’t all been a dream. His heart slowed, thudding hard beneath her ear. She smiled.

“Are you going to tell me what really happened?”

She jerked back to peer into his face and swallowed hard. Her gaze took in features that were dearer to her now that she knew how losing him felt. What would he do with the knowledge? Could he handle knowing?

Something in her expression must have told him the whole truth was better left alone, because he dragged in a deep breath. “So, maybe when we’re old and dead.”

“Shit.” She scrambled off his body, off the bed, and hurried to the shower.

“Was it something I said?” he drawled as he stepped beneath the spray behind her, his hands roaming her hips and waist.

“I have an errand to run. Want to come with me?”

“Since I have a couple of days off, sure.”

She hurried through her shower, wishing for the freedom to truly enjoy Sam’s luscious body. “Take your time,” she said. “I have something to do before we leave.”

Cait dressed in the bedroom and then searched the floor for the jeans she’d worn the previous night. She extracted the watch from the pocket, found an old scarf in the back of a drawer, and wrapped it carefully.

She went to the kitchen, pulled a chair to the broom closet, and stepped onto the seat to shove the watch to the farthest corner, behind her mother’s Book of Shadows.

Although she knew there’d be some karmic penalty somewhere along the line, she wouldn’t be returning the watch to Morin. Couldn’t promise she’d never use it again.

Besides, her powers had charged it. The watch belonged to her now. Along with her mother’s book. She made a mental note to write down everything she’d done, every word she’d spoken, however bad the incantation. For posterity.

The thought of posterity, of little Pierces clutching watches and brandishing hazel wands, made her smile, and she pressed a hand to her abdomen. At least the thought didn’t make her itch.

“Can I help you down?” Sam asked.

She turned on the chair, wondering if he’d seen her goofy grin.

His eyes sparkled with amusement, and he held out his hand. But instead of handing her down, he swept her off the chair and into his arms.

“How’d you know?”

“Know what?” He smiled.

“That I love it when you manhandle me?”

Sam shook his head. “Baby, I wasn’t thinking about you.” He leaned down and nuzzled her ear, his lips exploring the sensitive skin. “You smell good. Sure we don’t have time…?”

Resting a hand on Sam’s hard chest, Cait laughed, and shoved away the thought of little Pierces. She and Sam still had some kinks in their relationship to work out. Maybe one day.

“You sure you don’t mind?” Cait asked again as she glanced around the narrow street.

“We’re already here,” he said, steering his car down the gravel driveway to a small boxy clapboard house.

Cait opened the passenger door and stepped out. Morning sunlight shone soft on the picturesque little house and yard.

Painted white and accented with blue shutters, the old house looked cozy. A fitting place for Gladys Digby and her husband, Frank.

Rosebushes in need of pruning climbed a trellis at one corner of the house. A neat vegetable garden, plantings overgrown with weeds, sat to the side of the green lawn, which looked in need of mowing.

On their way to the house, she’d called the hospital. Frank had passed quietly away the night before. She hoped Mrs. Klein was with him and that they’d both be waiting for her to return with Gladys. Once she’d found her… and explained what had happened.

With Sam trailing behind her, Cait walked around the side of the house and entered beneath an arbor gate dripping with wisteria blossoms. Beyond the gate was a fantasy garden, filled with lilies and peonies, salvia and sweet peas.

Gladys Digby sat on a whitewashed iron bench, nodding in the sunshine. The oxygen tank she’d wheeled around the hospital was gone. So was the hospital gown. The old woman wore jeans and a pretty blue-flowered blouse tucked into the elasticized waist.

“Gladys?”

The woman’s white-haired head turned, a vague expression on her face. “Good morning.”

Cait hoped it wasn’t one of Gladys’s bad days. “Do you remember me?”

“You’re the girl from the hospital. Accident-prone. You arranged for that blond cutie to bring me home to my Frank. He nearly talked my ear off, and him not even able to see me.”

Cait hid a smile. She’d told Jason to keep talking while he drove “Miss Daisy” home. She hadn’t wanted the woman who’d died from complications related to her Alzheimer’s to get distracted and wander away before he could deposit her at her door.

“Don’t hover over me. Have a seat.” Gladys patted the bench beside her.

“What are you doing out here?” Cait said, sitting beside Gladys.

“Waiting for Frank and enjoying the butterflies.”

“Butterflies?” Cait glanced at the garden, just now noticing the small yellow butterflies, their buttery wings fluttering around red and orange blooms. She turned toward the woman. “Frank’s not coming, Gladys,” she said softly.

Gladys swallowed and blinked. Her rheumy, blue eyes filled with tears. “I wondered. The old fool left to buy groceries. Hasn’t been here for days. No one came. If they had, I wasn’t sure I could hitch a ride and find him. I don’t know where he is.”

Cait gave her a smile. “Mrs. Klein is with him. She’ll tell him to wait.”

“That old bat?” Gladys sniffed and squared her rounded shoulders. “She’d better not flirt with him.”

“She said to tell you hello. I think she missed you.”

“You’ll take me to him?” she asked, relief shining in her eyes.

“Of course.”

Gladys didn’t move; her arm made a sweep across the yard. “He planted all this for me. I have a black thumb.” Her gaze flitted to several spots among the bright blooms. “The man wasn’t much for pretty words, but there’s love in this garden.”

Cait felt her own eyes fill and followed the woman’s glance to the flowers with their bounty of pretty butterflies. “I have one just like that,” she whispered.

“You know,” Gladys said, leaning toward Cait, a mischievous smile spreading, “this house will go for a song.”

Cait blinked and looked around again. The house was small. But the yard was large. Big enough for herbal plantings. And blissfully free of the sound of the city. A nice place to raise children. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she murmured.

Gladys stood and walked toward the gate. She shot a glance behind her. “Don’t dawdle, girl. Frank’s waiting.”

Cait followed her, nearing Sam who’d stayed beside the gate. His own gaze took in the yard, eyeing the roof with the gutter filled with leaves and the cracked concrete on the back-porch stoop.

Cait leaned into Sam. “I have it on good authority this place will go for a song.”

Sam’s gaze jerked toward hers. “Someone matchmaking?”

“Wouldn’t have to buy any monarchs to release.”

As he slid an arm around her shoulders, Sam chuckled. “Caitydid Migelo will be disappointed—plain yellow butterflies.”

Will, he’d said. Cait breathed deep to calm a racing heart. Not a proposal. But a hint of a promise.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Lost Souls wasn’t created in a void. I’m fortunate to have a lovely group of ladies—my Delilah’s Diary and Rose’s Colored Glasses “loopies”—who give me daily encouragement and advice. Thanks, ladies! You make this journey so enjoyable.

I’ve mentioned my deplorable lack of ability to write a poem before. Author Lacey Thorn gave me much-needed help crafting the “cleansing spell”—she’s truly talented!

And I couldn’t have raced through this book, keeping the momentum going, if I hadn’t had my dear friend Layla Chase following me to clean up all my “uglies.” She’s been my friend for nearly as long as I’ve been writing. I treasure you, Layla!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Delilah Devlin was born in Spokane, Washington, and spent her childhood as a US Air Force brat. As an adult, she rebelled and accepted a commission into the Army, the first of several careers that would take her around the world. She now makes her home in Arkansas and continues to travel. The award-winning author of several paranormal romance, erotic romance, and erotica novels, novellas, and short stories, she channels her interests in mythology, history, and the occult into her writing.