Читать онлайн книгу «Something Wicked» автора Angela Campbell

Something Wicked
Angela Campbell
‘Campbell has a snarky sense of humor’ USA Today’s Happy Ever AfterPerfect for fans of Sookie Stackhouse & Stephanie Plum!All homicide detective Dylan Collins wants is a few hours of pleasure to take his mind off of the case haunting him. A serial killer is stalking the streets of Charleston, SC – a killer who calls himself The Grim Reaper. When the woman he'd just spent the night with turns up and offers her services as a psychic consultant on the case, his ardor quickly cools. Last thing he needs is to get tangled up with a con artist.It doesn't take long for Dylan to realize Alexandra King is the real deal – and the killer's next target. Dylan's protective instincts battle his reluctance to get too involved with a woman he isn't sure he can trust. As they get closer to finding the killer, they also grow closer to one another, but will Alexandra's secret agenda destroy their chance at happiness – if the killer doesn't strike first?




Something Wicked
Angela Campbell



A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

Contents
About the Author (#ubbeec749-ea68-53d8-a8bc-6f2ca5cd0054)
Dedication (#ue7070fd1-fce3-537b-b322-3013f863e078)
Chapter One (#uab6d75dd-bac2-510a-9efe-daf35351490c)
Chapter Two (#u08de8279-47a6-5413-9888-840a2ff9843a)
Chapter Three (#ub8a2d09c-47aa-53ba-abb9-6293c8750ccc)
Chapter Four (#ubfcf17af-86e1-5acf-93f8-d420ec8954d1)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty One (#litres_trial_promo)
BONUS MATERIAL (#litres_trial_promo)
Spirited Away (#litres_trial_promo)
About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#u2addfd17-38c3-50ef-9e63-94c398d1804f)
I read my first romance at 16 and immediately attempted to write one, too. Many attempts (and a couple of decades) later, I finally published my first novel. A mild-mannered newspaper reporter with more than 15 years experience as a general assignment reporter, features editor and graphic designer, I have also worked as a production assistant in TV and film. I now live in the Southeast with my rescue cat. Learn more about my books at www.angelacampbellonline.com.
For my niece, Brittney, who has always made one heck of a ghost-hunting sidekick. And for my brother, David, who forced me to watch horror films as a child. Thank you both for sharing my love of a good ghost story. This one is for you guys.

Chapter One (#u2addfd17-38c3-50ef-9e63-94c398d1804f)
She’d only been at the restaurant five minutes and already a freaking ghost had zeroed in on her.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
Alexandra King jerked her gaze away from the tall man in the corner near the bar—the one wearing a double-breasted black coat with a gray vest underneath—and drummed her fingers against the table top as she waited for her waitress to bring her a bowl of she-crab soup and Caesar salad. The white cotton shirt the man wore was too long for his arms and erupted in ruffles at his wrists. His hair curled below a low Derby hat, and he looked as real as any flesh-and-blood man in this place.
Except for the bloody gash at his throat.
She couldn’t help it. She risked another glimpse in his direction. Still watching her, the dead man tipped his hat and winked at her.
Pushing out of her chair, Alexandra shoved her way through the small crowd of people gathered for a Wednesday evening outing at the Southend Brewery and Smokehouse in historic Charleston, South Carolina, and headed toward the sign marked Restrooms.
This stylish specter made about the tenth dead person she’d seen since checking into her room at the inn forty minutes ago. Thankfully none had shown more than a passing interest in her…so far.
She glanced over her shoulder to see if this ghost was going to make a pest of himself. He didn’t seem to be following. Good.
Derby Hat Guy was behind the bar now, pouring himself a draft, unseen by the bartender shuffling around him. Stifling a chuckle, she ducked her head and pretended to find the floor interesting. She’d learned long ago that if she ignored dead people, nine times out of ten, they would do the same. It was the ones who didn’t that gave her headaches as they chipped away at her mental barrier, made her lose sleep, and do stupid stuff like fly hundreds of miles to hunt down a person she didn’t know.
A vibration against her right hip distracted her, and she dug her phone out of her pocket. Glancing at the caller ID, a smile tugged at her lips as she saw her newest—and possibly closest—friend’s picture on the display. She leaned against the wall outside the ladies room and focused on the call.
“Hey, Hannah. Did you get my text?” She’d sent a quick one as soon as she’d landed to let her friend know she had arrived safely.
“Yep. You made it there okay? No problems with the flight or getting checked into the hotel?”
“The flight was surprisingly easy, and the place you chose for me to stay at is incredible. More like an apartment than a hotel.” Much better than the dumps where she usually stayed anyway. It had been her fortune, meeting Hannah Dawson three months ago. Not only was the woman richer than sin but she had a generous heart that extended to her friends and anyone she assessed had a dire need.
In this case, that had included Alexandra on both counts.
“Good. I wish I’d been able to come with you. You’re doing me as much of a favor as yourself.” Hannah’s voice lowered a notch. “Zach is still being stubborn.”
Alexandra resisted the urge to roll her eyes. When wasn’t Zachary Collins stubborn?
She’d come to appreciate just how pigheaded the man was when she accepted a job working for him at his private security and investigations agency a few months ago.
The steady paycheck was hella nice, and she loved using her gifts as a psychic medium to help people. Already she’d assisted a family in finding their runaway daughter and helped a desperate single mother locate the good-for-nothing ex-husband who owed her thousands in child support.
Dead people could be so full of useful information.
But she and Zach had butted heads more than once—usually over the fact he refused to use their resources to track down his younger brother and make amends for something—what, she had no idea.
None of her business. She got that. She was fine with that. She would’ve stayed fine with it, but Zach’s dead mother had taken up residence in Alexandra’s new apartment and refused to leave until her two sons had been reunited. Every time Alexandra lowered her guard, oh look, there was Rebecca Collins again, harping on about her sons. Zachary this. Dylan that. Nag, nag, nag.
Stupid ghost was driving her insane.
“Yeah, well, tenacity must run in the Collins family,” Alexandra told Hannah. “I’ve been trying for weeks to get his mom to cross over, or at least get the heck outta my apartment. She doesn’t listen either.”
Hannah snorted. “I’d believe it. Once Zach gets an idea in his head, he doesn’t let go.”
“Still pestering you to move in with him, huh?”
“Yes.” Hannah drew the word out on a long-suffering sigh. “It’s not even that I don’t want to. It’s like I’ve told you before. I am crazy about the man, but we need to get to know each other better before we both dive into the deep end. Plus, I’d feel better if he patched things up with his brother first. I know it’s important to him, even if he won’t admit it.”
“Hopefully, the lead that Spider got for us will pan out.” Alexandra twirled the ends of her long blonde hair between two fingers. Two guys at the bar hadn’t even noticed yet that the bar’s friendly spirit had switched their drinks while they’d been distracted checking out the female bartender. Oh my. This was a mischievous ole fellow. “If Dylan Collins is in Charleston like Spider thinks, I’ll find him.”
The young female hacker Zach had hired to bring his security firm into the twenty-first century had become everyone on the team’s “little sister.” She was wicked smart and had tracked Zach’s brother from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to Charleston, South Carolina, in under ten minutes. Spider would have probably given them a phone number and address if Alexandra hadn’t opened her mouth to ask what the heck that weird action figure was on Spider’s desk. It looked like a demonic wild boar on steroids, wearing spikes and armor. Creepy.
Alexandra rolled her eyes at the memory. After a lecture about how awesome the Guild Wars online game was, Spider had been offended enough not to offer any more help in the matter.
Annoying little sister, more like it.
So here Alexandra was, voluntarily in one of the most haunted cities in America, surrounded by freaking dead people, with no idea where to start looking for Zach’s little brother.
“Is, um, Rebecca with you?” Hannah’s question about Zach’s mother drew her back to their conversation.
Alexandra sighed. “Haven’t seen her since I boarded the plane. She’ll pop up. She always does. Hopefully she’ll point me in the right direction so I can get this over and done with.”
She’d kind of been counting on Zach’s mother to manifest and lead her the rest of the way to the mysterious Dylan Collins. The fact it hadn’t happened yet was pissing her off. She’d left herself open to communication with Rebecca, which also left her vulnerable to any ghost, spirit or whatever in search of a conduit between dimensions.
If she didn’t show soon, Alexandra was flipping her mental Open sign over to Closed.
After promising to check in with Hannah with frequent updates, Alexandra ended the call and washed her hands to give herself an excuse for visiting the ladies room. She was a little hungry and a lot tired after her evening flight.
She hadn’t mentioned it to Hannah, but she’d also been uneasy since touching ground in Charleston. The feeling had intensified the closer she’d gotten to her hotel. She’d never seen anything like the spiral gray beams whirling up toward the skyline from what she assumed was the city’s historic district. She’d never encountered so many ghosts so quickly in such a small area either. Not even when she’d lived in Germany, where ghosts were everywhere. A heavy, sick weight had sunk into her stomach, manifesting a mild headache as she’d watched the beams wave and shimmer against the setting sun. This city felt…unhealthy.
Or she could be feeling ill because she’d skipped lunch. She hoped that was the reason. Hopefully a decent meal and a good night’s sleep would right things.
This place had been highly recommended by the desk clerk at the inn, or she might have opted for junk food out of a machine and called it an early night. She rubbed her eyes and blinked them open again, only to see the man in the Derby hat standing directly behind her, grinning like the Cheshire cat. He lifted a finger and pointed at her in the mirror.
“Ya can see me, can’t ya?”
Crap.
A woman came out of the stall behind her, so Alexandra kept her mouth shut and made a quick escape. Maybe if she kept ignoring him —
“I don’t mean ya any harm.” The Derby Hat Guy followed her back to her table and took the seat opposite her just as the waitress appeared with her food. “I hear the food here is delicious. I know the brew is!” He lifted his mug and chugged back several gulps. The bloody gash at his neck shifted with every swallow. Since the mug gave off a slight orange glow, Alexandra knew it wasn’t visible to anyone else. Ghost mug. “Tell me, miss.” Reluctantly, she looked his way. “How can a pretty little thing like yer’self see me when no’un else can?”
Alexandra kept her mouth busy, pushing spoonful after spoonful of soup between her lips, avoiding eye contact as best she could. Sometimes she forgot she was in public and launched into a full-fledged conversation with her unseen visitors, but she had no plans of doing so now. Nuh uh. No way. The place wasn’t overly crowded, but there were enough people around to notice if she suddenly started talking to The Invisible Man.
But maybe this guy didn’t know he was dead. Maybe he needed her help crossing over.
Maybe —
Stop it! Don’t engage him. He’s not the reason you’re here.
As the man rambled about the dress of the men and women around them—“Woo-wee! Ain’t ever seen the likes! She’s practically wearin’ nothin’! Would ya look at that?”—Alexandra finished her salad, quietly amused by his observations. He was a chatty fellow, and if she had spoken, she doubted she could get a word in edgewise. Seeing he wasn’t going away, she began to study him as he yakked. She’d guess he was in his late thirties, maybe early forties. Lanky. Not overly handsome, but not a dog either. Kind of reminded her of that guy who’d played the Doctor on that British show Hannah had been making her watch. Oh, what was his name? David Tennant. That was it. Except this guy wasn’t the least bit British.
Where was Zachery’s mom, Rebecca? She might get on quite well with this character—being that they were both highly obnoxious and all. Perhaps she could hook them up in the afterlife and give the dead woman someone else to nag for a change.
“It must be your lucky night, hon.” A woman’s voice drew her attention.
Alexandra blinked up at her waitress as the young woman slid a mug of beer in front of her. Did the girl seriously just call her hon?
The redhead nodded over her shoulder. “The hunk at the pool tables bought you a drink.” She winked. “Enjoy.”
Oh, no. Not only were the dead people around here clamoring for her attention, so was some a-hole on the prowl. She bit back a groan and lifted her gaze to give the man a polite shake of her head, a silent thanks but no thanks and –
Hello, Mr. Delicious.
He was hands-down the most criminally sexy man she’d ever laid eyes on, and for a woman who worked with some serious man candy these days that was saying a lot. He studied her from the billiards area as he chalked up one of the cues. He was the only person over there, playing a solitary game while most people congregated at the bar. A slight smile teased his mouth as she managed to lift the mug and nod. So what if she hated beer? She’d gulp the whole thing in one go if that sex god wanted to watch. He nodded back, gestured to the pool table beside him, and—
Oh, yeah. She was tempted to saunter over there and see what happened. Beyond tempted. She’d never had a one-night stand in her life, but maybe this was as good a time as any.
“Well, I’ll be! He sure seems to have struck yer fancy.”
Oh, no. She scrunched her brows and shook her head. She had a bad feeling about this.
The ghost wooped. “Oh, but I think he has.” He glanced toward the billiards. “And I dare say he has taken quite a fancy to you, miss. Comes in here a lot that one does. Never been able to spook ‘em though.” Derby Hat Guy abruptly stood and started walking toward the other man, saying, “Let’s give ‘em a game. Have a bit of fun with the rascal.” He rubbed his hands together.
“Wait! Uh,” Alexandra jumped to her feet and realized a few seconds later she was practically on top of the pool table when Mr. Delicious said, amused, “Whoa now. I’m guessing you like a good game of pool?”
Among other things.
She bit her lip and tried to ignore the ghost bent over the other end of the table, reaching for two of the balls that had been scattered near a corner pocket. She’d made this poor, delicious man a target of the ghost’s tomfoolery. Oh dear. She needed to fix this.
“Pool?” Her eyes widened when Derby Hat Guy picked up the white ball behind Mr. Delicious and moved it clearway across the table. There was no orange glow to it, which meant the ball had actually moved. Had anyone else seen that? This ghost was an old and smart one. Not many could move objects like that. “Yeah. Yeah, I love pool. Game on.” Leaning over, she slapped the green felt and flicked her fingers a few times toward the wall, trying to convey the message to Derby Hat Guy to get lost.
Mr. Delicious held out a cue stick to her in offering, distracting her from the ghost past his shoulder. “Great. We’ll start a new game. I was getting tired of losing to myself.” He looked her up and down where she leaned against the table and seemed to like what he saw. His smoldering blue eyes burned with heat so intense, she felt her insides ignite. He wriggled the cue in his hand. “You know how to use this thing?” His smile was kicked up to full charge on the suggestive meter.
Oh, my, he was flirting, and that was a game best played by two. Accepting the cue from him, Alexandra arched a brow and slowly ran a finger along its length. “I can handle a stick pretty good.” She pursed her lips, blew at the chalk on the end, and slowly batted her lashes when she looked at him again. “Besides, what woman doesn’t love to bust some balls every now and then?”
He gave an appreciative chuckle. “Alright.” He began setting up a new game and she sighed, watching his taut backside move deliciously against his faded jeans as he bent over. Whew. Levis should pay him a royalty. Who looked that good in jeans, besides Calvin Klein models? No one, except this guy. Maybe he was a Calvin Klein model. He definitely had the face and body for it.
And maybe she should offer to buy him a drink or something—you know, to apologize for making him a target of the resident ghost.
“Can I get you a beer?”
“Nah. I’m good.” His back muscles stretched against his black t-shirt when he rested his elbows on the table, highlighting some serious muscle definition beneath.
“Something else? Whiskey?” She tilted her head at him. Me?
“No thanks.” His eyes twinkled with amusement as he straightened and moved closer. “Girls take advantage of me when I drink. I can see I’ll need to keep my wits around you.”
“Is that so?” She cast a meaningful glance over her shoulder at the beer he’d ordered for her. “Crap. You’ve obviously found me out. Whatever will I do now?” She sent him a pointed look that she hoped said I know your game. Trying to take advantage of me, eh?
He selected a stick from the cue rack and sauntered over to her, not looking the least bit remorseful.
“I was hoping if you drank enough, I’d start looking good enough for you to come talk to me. Since you didn’t even take a sip before rushing right over, I’m flattered.”
She snorted, but yeah, she was as embarrassed as heck about the way that must have looked. “Maybe I thought you were someone else.”
“Who?”
She said the first name that came to mind. “Robert Pattinson.” And then winced.
His eyebrows squeezed together. He looked almost offended. “Really?”
No, not at all, but what was she supposed to say—oh, there was a ghost coming to play with your balls? She shrugged.
“I won’t hold that against you.” He winked. “And I should probably warn you.” He leaned in close, the tantalizing scent of raw masculine energy exciting her nostrils and causing her inner siren to sit up and sing. “The guy I’ve been playing against tonight is pretty tough. He might not go easy on you.”
“You mean, the guy you were playing pool with earlier?” She glanced around, spotted only Derby Hat Guy leaning against the table, drumming his fingers impatiently, sending her a bored look. “Who is he, Casper the friendly pool player?”
He grinned. “He’s the guy who sent you the beer—the one who thought to himself, ‘I think the most beautiful woman in the world is in this room, and I’d like to talk to her.’”
Oh, mercy, that was both the best and the worst pickup line she’d ever heard. He had a sense of humor as well as being sexy. She liked that.
She tilted her head and feigned concern. “Have you seen a doctor?”
His eyes widened. “For what?”
“Multiple personality disorder. I think you have it.” She smiled to let him know she was only teasing. And she gripped the cue tighter to keep from doing something ridiculous like ripping his shirt off. “Here’s a hint, Casanova. Guys who talk about themselves in third person tend to come off as a little bit crazy.”
He leaned so close his hot breath teased her face as he tried to stifle a laugh. “Good point. And I’m a jackass. I haven’t even asked your name.”
“Alexandra.” She held out her hand. “And who will I be crushing in this game tonight?”
The warmth of his fingers against hers was stimulating. “Name’s—”
The sound of wood knocking against wood startled them both, and Alexandra sprang away. Derby Hat Guy had moved to the cue rack and was purposefully knocking the sticks against one another. He stopped when Mr. Delicious turned around to inspect the noise.
“I thought we were gonna have some fun with the rascal!” complained her newest dead friend. “Come on, already. Let’s play!”
Ghosts. They could be so annoying.
***
“You know, they claim this place is haunted.”
Dylan Collins leaned against his pool cue and watched as his enticing opponent lined up her shot perfectly—and abruptly banged the white ball against the left side when the words left his mouth.
She swore softly and sighed. “You don’t say.”
He shrugged and moved to take his first shot, regretful he no longer had a good view of her cleavage as she bent over the table. She’d already sunk a number of the balls. The woman knew her way around a billiard table. “I don’t believe in that stuff, personally. If that’s your thing, Charleston has a ton of ghost tours.”
“Hmm.” Her concentration seemed off as she frowned slightly, gazing toward the wall. Maybe she was like him and thought the whole Haunted Charleston spiel was just a gimmick to attract tourists.
Change the topic, dumbass. He didn’t want to scare her away or make her think he was a paranormal freak when he wasn’t.
He couldn’t believe his luck in luring a beauty like her over here. He circled the pool table and lined up his cue with the ball.
His favorite way to unwind from a bad day at work was to come to the Southend Brewery for a beer, a game of pool, and a game on one of the TVs above the third-floor bar, but he’d never seen a woman like this one here. Usually the women he attracted at bars were young, more than a little tipsy, and as sexually aggressive as sailors turned loose in a whorehouse.
His partner on the force liked to think of them as cop groupies, although Dylan never advertised the fact he was with the North Charleston PD before he decided to take one home. Besides, Reedus was wrong. Usually in this part of the city they were either co-eds or tourists looking for a little naughty fun before returning home to their mundane lives or boyfriends or husbands or whatever. Didn’t matter a bit to them that he wore a badge. They were more interested in what he didn’t wear.
But this one, there was something different about her.
Older than his usual pick up, definitely. He’d guess early 30s.
Lifting his gaze from the end of his cue and toward the blonde across from him, he drank in the sight of her curvy figure. The ball soared forward and clanged against two others that drifted into the corner pocket. He wouldn’t stretch his credibility by saying she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, but she was close. She had something else too that had caught his attention from across the room before he’d ever glimpsed her pretty face. The way she carried herself. Confident. Classy, even in jeans. Two traits he found sexy as hell, and then to come to learn she was smart and funny, too? Hot damn.
Normally he went for petite brunettes, but he wouldn’t mind a change of taste sampling this leggy blonde for a night or two. Especially tonight, when he needed to erase thoughts of the case that had been eating him up all day.
Was she willing to help him with that?
Let’s find out.
First, he had to sink the rest of these balls to impress her. He took his time finding the right angle—oh yeah, he could nail three in one shot from here—and made a show of leaning over, sliding the stick through his fingers, oh so slowly, and then snapping forward with just enough finesse to hit his target in the right spot. The white ball clanged against the orange No. 5, sending it into a corner pocket, then spiraled toward both the green No. 6 and purple No.4.
The white ball abruptly took a sharp detour to the left, missing his remaining targets completely.
What the-?
Alexandra’s eyes and mouth were wide open, probably a match to his own expression. She blinked and shook her head. “That was…a little weird, huh?” Red began spreading from her neck up through her face.
He scratched at the hair on his head. “Yeah, weird.”
“You sank the five though. Uh, good job. Still your turn.”
“Right.” He bent to find his next shot, narrowed his eyes and spotted three balls clumped together near the middle pocket. That might get him at least two scores. He slid the cue forward then jerked it back when the white ball began slowly rolling toward the left.
He straightened and grabbed the white ball, picked it up and felt its weight in his hand. Damn thing felt normal. He glanced at the woman standing on the other side of the table, her hand now covering her mouth and her eyes glistening with amusement.
She lowered her hand and placed it on her hip. “Are you trying to cheat?”
“What? No. Hell, no. Didn’t you see that? The ball moved—” He bit back a curse and put it where it was before.
He sat his bridge hand on the table, kept his angle smooth, and struck it this time.
Almost every ball on the table rolled out of its way as it bowled forward. It banked off the corner pocket and fell in.
What the—?
He reached a hand out over the table. Had someone turned the air conditioning on full blast? Was there a vent he couldn’t see?
He didn’t feel anything abnormal.
Instead of the impressed cheer he’d been soliciting, he was rewarded with feminine snickering. “Smooth,” Alexandra said, pushing him out of the way. “Let me show you how it’s done, hot stuff.”
She backed her ass up, spread her legs, set up her shot and sent the white ball sailing. She clinked one into the middle pocket, then three more she hadn’t even touched flew into other pockets, one after the other.
“How the hell did you do that?”
She held up her cue and blew the tip. “Guess I’m just better at this than you.”
Something weird was going on here, but hell, that was okay. She wore amusement well. It lit up her face and looked damn attractive on her. He leaned closer. “Still your turn.”
She moved around him to find her next position. He waited until she had leaned down with her cue arranged to follow. He curved over her, resting his hands on the table edge on each side of her, and breathed in the intoxicating scent of strawberries. Mmm. Nice.
Her back lifted slightly, pressing against his chest. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He nuzzled his mouth close to her ear. “Making sure you don’t cheat. Got a problem with that?”
Judging by the way she wiggled her backside against him, he didn’t think so. “You’re in my way.”
He eased up, but didn’t move away completely. He left his right hand resting on the spot above her belt.
She pulled her elbow back, slowly, and sank two more balls. He thought she did, anyway. He wasn’t really paying attention to the table anymore. His mind was distracted by the strip of bare skin his fingers had discovered between her jeans and shirt. Smooth, silky smooth. And hot, so hot to the touch.
She turned her head back to glance at his hand before lifting her gaze to his. “Well go on, then. Keep fondling me. I’m still gonna win despite your little distractions.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yep.”
And then she sank the eight ball.
Game over.
He liked this woman, liked that she gave him a lil bit of hell. “Where are you staying?”
Straightening, she curled both hands around her cue and considered him. “Why?”
“Cause I’d like to know where I’ll be spending the night.”
She laughed. “Presumptuous, aren’t we?”
“Mmm-hmmm. And cocky too.”
“No kidding.”
He couldn’t resist touching the strip of skin still visible between her belt and shirt. Her breath hitched at the contact, so he knew she wasn’t as unaffected as she played. “I live just around the corner. We could be there in less than ten minutes.”
She said nothing for so long, he started to think he’d overshot this one. Handing him her cue, she arched a brow. “My hotel sounds closer.”
They made it there in eight, and if his steps slowed a little when he realized she was leading him to the Lodge Alley Inn, she either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
Too weird.
His place was on the next street over.
But he kept his mouth quiet about the irony of her stay and put it to better use, nibbling her earlobe as she struggled to open the door to her room. He liked hearing her breathing quicken and turn raspy as his hands had fun, too, sliding around and beneath the hem of her t-shirt. He trailed his fingers along the silky smooth skin of her stomach as he pressed his front against her backside. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman this much.
Pushing inside, she didn’t turn on the lights, just pulled him in after her, reaching up to devour his mouth like a woman starved for kisses. Man, she was hot.
She tore away from him. “Bed is upstairs.” She toed off her shoes and hurried up the spiral staircase inside the entryway of her room. He was right behind her.
***
Dylan must have fallen asleep because the alarm clock read three o’clock when a sound awoke him from a pleasant dream hours later. Alexandra grumbled and snuggled deeper into the sheets as he maneuvered his way to the end of the bed and found his phone.
Speaking quietly, he answered, “Collins.”
“Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, but we’ve got another one,” his partner’s voice was brisk. “Same calling card as the one last month. Pretty sure we’ve officially got a serial on our hands.”
Dylan swore and glanced at the woman sleeping peacefully behind him. It had been nice while it lasted. Reedus gave him a few details and the address while he tugged on his pants.
Picking up the rest of his clothes, he ended the call and moved quietly to the stairs. He hesitated, glancing back toward the bed. A smile tugged at his lips as he walked over, knelt beside the mattress and just looked at her for a minute.
He leaned and kissed her lips softly, quickly, so as not to disturb her.
“See ya later, beautiful.”
And he had every intention of doing so.

Chapter Two (#u2addfd17-38c3-50ef-9e63-94c398d1804f)
She was alone.
Alexandra wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not by that revelation when she opened her eyes, looked around the unfamiliar hotel room and stretched lazily the next morning.
Oh, not because of the guy she’d brought back to her hotel room last night. She’d expected him to be long gone—her first one-night stand. Had she really done that? A painful tug in some of her more underused muscles reassured her she had.
Her confusion was because she had fully expected Rebecca Collins to be sitting in the chair beside the bed, tapping her foot and waiting for Alexandra to wake so she could start complaining about her sons again.
But Alexandra was alone.
No one-night stand. No ghost.
It was so quiet. How freaking weird was this?How long had it been since she’d woken up to this kind of peace? Months, maybe.
She showered and dressed, glancing around often and expecting the dead woman to pop out of the wall and start making her please-you’ve-got-to-help-my-son demands. Nope, nothing. She’d heard someone say at a spiritual conference once that ghosts couldn’t travel over water. Was that the case here? She shook her head. Rebecca had followed her from Atlanta to Denver and back again. But not here?
Weird.
It was next to impossible to keep her guard up while she was sleeping, so the first thing Alexandra did each morning before leaving her apartment was close herself from communication with the dead. She hesitated in doing it now. What if Rebecca finally made an appearance? She peeked out the curtains, saw that weird gray aura shooting up, and decided she’d better be safe than sorry until she figured out what the anomaly meant.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Released it. And another. She envisioned a brick wall.
Only the living can communicate with me. No spirits can pass beyond this barrier.
Over and over, she repeated the mantra until she felt…almost normal. Another deep breath, and she opened her eyes.
Alexandra’s stomach rumbled, so she set out in search of food. She found a small café serving breakfast, asked to borrow the phone book, grabbed a newspaper and sat down to make a plan.
She started by checking for Dylan Collins in the phone book, hoping the good, old-fashioned resource would trump her Internet searches. She found only one, called and reached an older-sounding man with a strong Southern accent.
Nope. Not him.
She went down the list of D Collins and knew each time a woman claimed a variation of the name she wasn’t getting any closer.
And it sucked that every time she marked off a name from the list, her mind happily somersaulted to an image of Mr. Delicious’s handsome face.
Had he ever told her his name?
Heat warmed her face as she realized she hadn’t noticed. She couldn’t believe she’d slept with a total stranger when she’d needed to be focused on the reason she came here in the first place. But she had.
This would have been a lot easier to do if her mind didn’t prefer to think about Mr. Delicious. Oh, yes, he’d rocked her world last night. Was she only one in a long line of women, or was casual sex as new to him as it was her?
She snorted. Who was she kidding? That man had been on the prowl before she’d walked into the room. If she hadn’t taken him back to her hotel, no doubt some other lucky woman would have been charmed into doing so. Ridiculous that she felt the hot rush of jealousy blur her vision at that idea. No one that good in bed was a saint, and she had no claim on him anyway. Nor did she want a claim on him. She’d done the long distance thing once, and her marriage hadn’t survived it.
Slamming the phone book shut, she sighed, feeling a little depressed by that memory.
She looked up and caught a young woman on the other side of the window staring in at her. Tiny sparks of orange electricity shot off from her body, just like they always did from dead people. Another ghost. Alexandra tensed and tore her eyes away. She’d done the proper meditation to disconnect. She knew she had.
She glanced back and the young woman was gone.
She must have been mistaken. Her shoulders relaxed, but a feeling of unease lingered in her belly.
As she spread cream cheese over her bagel, she glanced at the newspaper. In a side strip on the front page with no photo, a smaller headline immediately grabbed her attention.
Woman found murdered in cemetery.
The sudden image of a cartoon figure dressed in a black robe and holding a scythe overtook her vision. She’d always likened the experience to someone holding up huge flash cards in front of her eyes unexpectedly. Sometimes a word was written for her to see. Sometimes it was a symbol or a photograph. Alexandra braced herself for more, but her gaze saw nothing now but the newspaper article.
Her hand lowered to her abdomen, which rumbled with anxiety. This wasn’t good. Her morning disconnect hadn’t worked if a ghost—the young woman in the window?—was sending her this information.
She puzzled over the image of a grim reaper that had been relayed to her, but then again, she usually did until she learned more information to give it substance. She felt an immediate urge to turn the page and found herself flipping to the article’s reference on page 3 of the Metro section and zeroing in on a different article buried in the middle of the page. Homicide investigation launched after body found in alley. Again, the grim reaper cartoon flashed before her.
Were these two murders related?
Yes. She didn’t have to read the details of either story. She just knew they were. Did the police realize it?
She flipped back to the first page and skimmed the article as she chewed and then nearly choked on the piece of bread when she read, “Police are seeking information from anyone who saw anything suspicious in the area, according to lead investigator Dylan Collins, Special Investigations Division of the North Charleston Police Department.”
Holy crap.
She laughed and glanced around. Looked like one of her problems was going to be easier to solve than she’d thought.
On the other hand, it was a little disconcerting to realize her mental keep-ghosts-away barrier wasn’t working.
She looked around but didn’t see any more people with sparkly auras. The young woman had been dressed modern. Probably a new ghost. Could be as wary of Alexandra as Alexandra was of her right now, hence the telepathy instead of face-to-face conversation.
Suited her just fine.
Alexandra used the phone book to find the number for the North Charleston Police Department then waited to be connected to Detective Collins. After holding several minutes, a gruff, older-sounding man came on the line.
“Detective Reedus,” he barked.
“I was trying to reach Dylan Collins.”
“What’s the nature of your business?”
Uh, crap. What should she say? The truth? Yeah, she’d give it a shot.
“I’m a friend of his brother’s. I’m trying to reach him. It’s important.”
There was a brief pause. The man grunted. “Detective Collins doesn’t have a brother. If you have a crime tip, please call our special hotline.” He rattled off a number. “Have a good day.” Then the line went dead.
Okay, maybe not so easy after all.
Time for Plan B.
Alexandra scrolled through the contacts in her phone until she spotted a familiar police sergeant’s name. He answered after the second ring.
“Sergeant Coronado, got a minute?”
She could hear the smile in his voice when he answered, “For one of my favorite ladies? Always.”
She nibbled at her lower lip. “Tell me. Do you know anyone in the bureaus down in Charleston, South Carolina?”
***
“Collins, captain wants to see you in his office.” A uniformed officer made the announcement on his way to the water cooler.
Reedus banged a crumpled paper ball off of Dylan’s shoulder and grinned. “Probably another false confession or maybe the cap just wants to tell you what a great job you’re doing. What’s your guess?”
“Did the cemetery murder make the news yet?”
Reedus picked up the newspaper on his desk. “Yep.”
Dylan groaned and rubbed his eyes. If he had a quarter for every time some whackjob came in, wanting to confess to a crime he obviously knew nothing about but had seen in the news, Dylan could’ve afforded one of the mansions on Rainbow Row.
“Why don’t you take this one?” He glanced hopefully at the older man sitting at the desk across from him.
“Ha!” Reedus leaned back. “You’re the lead on this case, not me. Besides, I got a stack of paperwork to finish on another case before lunch.”
“I’ll do your paperwork.”
“You’d trade paperwork for that?” He made a yeah, right face and leaned forward.
Well, yes, he would’ve, but Dylan didn’t argue.
Walking toward the captain’s office, Dylan rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his head around his shoulders. He was so tense, he was starting to feel stiff and sore. A far cry from how he’d felt last night: relaxed, sated, and in seventh heaven wrapped around the blonde from the bar.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun with a woman. Both in and out of bed.
Maybe when he ended his shift, he’d track her down and enjoy another night of mindless sex. Would she be up for that?
Maybe. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know where to find her to ask.
Alexandra. He loved that name. Loved that she didn’t shorten it. She’d been on his mind on and off all morning. How long was she staying in town? For all he knew, she’d already checked out, and that would suck. He itched to lay eyes on a living, breathing woman after spending the morning with the lifeless one at the cemetery. He wanted to hold someone, feel her warmth soak into his skin like medicine, and remind him not everything in this world was bad.
He knocked on the captain’s door and entered.
And then froze.
“Collins, get in here,” the captain ordered after a minute, his attention half focused on the computer screen in front of him. Dylan stepped inside and closed the door behind him, his eyes not leaving the woman seated in the chair in front of his boss.
Her eyes wide, Alexandra looked about two shades paler than he remembered as she gawked back at him.
“Detective Collins, this is Alexandra King.”
Dylan nodded but couldn’t manage to push out any words. What was she doing here?
The captain looked at him, leaned back in his seat and tented his fingers. “Miss King is a private investigator from Atlanta. She also happens to be a psychic medium, and she’s offered her services to us on this case free of charge.”
Private investigator? Psychic medium?
Hell.
The captain held up his hand in a hear-me-out gesture and nodded toward his phone. “Miss King comes highly recommended from some of my friends in the Colorado police bureau. I’d like for you to include her on this case.”
“What? Captain, we never—”
“You talking back to me, son?” Captain Lloyd Devereux pushed his chubby body out of the seat. His finger tapped the top of his desk for emphasis as he spoke. “The victim was the niece of a county councilman. How long do you think it’s going to be before there’s pressure to turn this over to SLED or call in the feds?”
Probably a day at most before someone begged the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division to send a man in to help.
Pushing a hand through his hair, Dylan said nothing, just met the older man’s eyes. As the youngest detective in this department, he’d learned not to press his luck. He suspected the captain hadn’t liked him since the day Dylan had transferred in from Baton Rouge last year. No idea why. Dylan’s cases were always handled professionally, and his conviction rate was higher than anyone else’s in the division. He was good at his job. He took pride in that.
“Sir, I mean nothing but respect here, but I don’t understand. I’ve never worked with a psychic before on a case.” He glanced at Alexandra then back to his boss. “I’m a little curious why we’re even considering this. It’s not like this is a cold case we’re working.”
Devereux relaxed his stance. “I don’t want this to become a high profile case, and if that means taking advantage of Miss King’s help, so be it. Hear her out. If she can’t help, fine. Let me know. But until then, she’s consulting. I’m already drawing up the paperwork.” He reached for something on his desk. “We don’t do it often, but we’ve listened to what some so-called psychics have had to say before. Here. This is what convinced me to give Miss King a shot.”
The captain tossed a yellow steno pad across the desk in front of Dylan. The older man said nothing, just waited for Dylan to glance at what was drawn on the paper. When he did, Dylan swore.
Scribbled on the page was a child-like drawing of a hooded figure holding a scythe. A grim reaper.
“Miss King said she had a vision of that when she read the article in the paper this morning. She thought it was relevant. I haven’t confirmed or denied to her that it is.”
Dylan took a deep breath and glanced at the woman still staring at him as if Bigfoot had walked into the room in his place.
He picked up the steno pad and gestured with it, focusing on his superior. “Did this get leaked to the press?”
“No.” Captain Devereux sighed. “I don’t want it to, either. Once she signs the non-disclosure agreement, show her what you need to from the files. Take her to the crime scene and see if she can give you anything. I want these cases solved before any reporters piece together the facts. Understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Their desk clerk Kathy knocked on the door and said, “I’ve got that contract ready, sir.”
“Miss King, if you go with Kathy, she’ll explain everything to you.” To Kathy, he said, “Let Detective Collins know as soon as everything is filed. He’ll be waiting at his desk.”
Dylan glanced at Alexandra as she stood to follow the other woman and wondered who she thought she was fooling. Had he talked in his sleep last night, said something about these cases to tip her off? She still looked shell-shocked. He’d never told her his name. Maybe she hadn’t known he was the detective in charge of this case, but maybe she had. Maybe she was a great actress, pretending to be shocked to see him.
His libido wasn’t driving anymore. His cop instincts had taken the wheel.
She could be involved. An accomplice. They could be toying with the police.
Maybe she’d come to Charleston to scam them, or had she seen a chance and jumped at it when she read the paper this morning? He couldn’t remember seeing her at the bar before last night. He’d have to make inquiries at the inn to find out when she’d checked in. Find out why she was in town. She could have been watching him for days.
The captain instructed Dylan to close the door behind her.
“I know you don’t like doing this, but we’ve got three homicides connected by this.” Devereux gestured to the drawing on the notepad. “And we don’t have a single lead yet. It’s only a matter of time before the press calls us out and starts proclaiming we’ve got a serial killer in the city. I don’t need that kind of grief. Understand me?”
Dylan crossed his arms and nodded over his shoulder. “How do you think she knows about the reaper? You really believe she’s psychic?”
“I have no idea, but I’m desperate enough to give her a chance to prove herself. Do me a favor, Collins, and do the same.” The captain reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of pills. “What is Dempsey saying? He confirmed anything yet?”
Dylan shook his head and thought back to his conversation with the coroner. “He said he’d try to have a report to me after lunch, but it depends on when the autopsy is done. Don’t worry. I’ve called, and they know it’s a priority.”
“Head over there and make sure they hurry. Take King with you.”
Dylan clenched his jaw to keep from arguing. “Anything else?”
“Just keep me informed.” The captain gestured toward the door, giving him permission to leave, but adding one last comment. “My friend in Denver isn’t an easy guy to impress, and he was impressed by her. She might surprise us.”
He didn’t tell the captain she already had.
Dylan went back to his desk and did a search on Alexandra King. She came up empty on a criminal records background check. Her driver’s license had recently changed from Colorado to Georgia. No past bankruptcies. Divorced. Interestingly, she had filed for an order of protection against a man named Kevin Alred a few months before she’d moved from Denver to Atlanta, but the details in the system were slim.
The internet gave him hits on several articles from Colorado, citing her involvement in cold cases, and a few more hits on spiritual conventions at which she’d appeared as a guest.
He added private detective to her name in the search field, but no new results came up. Had she lied about being a private investigator? If so, it would be easy enough to determine. PIs were required to be licensed in most states.
He’d just picked up his phone to call and ask Kathy to peek and tell him what agency Alexandra claimed to work for when Kathy’s voice startled him from behind.
“Paperwork is filed. She’s all yours, Collins.”
***
So he’d been checking her out.
Alexandra wasn’t surprised. She’d expected it. Glancing at the computer screen in front of him, she recognized her name in the search field and tried to take note of the results shown before Dylan turned around in his seat.
A sick, worried feeling gripped her stomach and made her feel momentarily nauseous. Had Spider updated the firm’s website to include her name and bio yet? She hoped not. At least, not yet.
She wanted to talk to Dylan before he made the connection between her and his brother, feel him out and see how receptive he was to reconciliation first. If there was as much bad blood between the two men as Zach seemed to think, she sensed that type of connection would not be to her advantage right now.
Of all the men to fall into bed with her first night in town, of course he would turn out to be a cop and Zach’s brother.
Of course he would.
Putting his phone back in its cradle, Dylan turned and sighed, half smiling up at her and bringing to mind all sorts of naughty memories.
Whoa, girl. Keep your mind on the matter at hand, and not on his, er, weapon.
She crossed her arms and arched a brow at him. “So it’s Detective Collins, is it?”
He stood. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. King.”
“Funny. You remind me of this guy I know, only I don’t think he ever mentioned his name.”
He glanced around, seemed satisfied no one was paying them attention, and lowered his voice. “Poor communication seems to be a real problem here. He doesn’t remember you mentioning you were a psychic either.”
She tilted her head and considered him. “Oh, dear. I thought you only referred to yourself in third person to pick up women. This is a real problem for you, isn’t it?”
He did not look amused as he reached for his jacket and brushed past her. “The only real problem I see here is that I don’t have time for this crap.”
She hurried to keep up with him as he pushed out the door and headed for an unmarked car that had seen better days. He turned his head once he reached the vehicle, looked at her, and sighed as he opened the driver’s side door. “Get in. We’re going to check on the coroner’s report.”
She had to brush aside a fast-food wrapper and bag, but she slid into the seat beside him without commenting on his sudden lack of manners.
“Your car?”
“Detectives aren’t allowed to use personal vehicles on duty.” His gaze skimmed over her doubtfully. “Seems an experienced police consultant would know that.”
She couldn’t help it. She had to roll her eyes. Oh, the fun she could have with this man, winding him up. He hadn’t been nearly so uptight last night.
“I’m not an idiot, detective. I was simply wondering if this was your mess or someone else’s.” She picked up a discarded receipt on the seat beside her. “I have to wonder about any man who eats a simple ham omelet sandwich when the enormous omelet sandwich on their menu is so much tastier.” She handed him the receipt, which he promptly crumpled and tossed over his shoulder into the back seat before starting the car. “Oooh. Messy. Another strike against you. Didn’t your mother teach you better than that?”
Speaking of…where the heck was his mother? Rebecca still hadn’t made an appearance, even though every effort Alexandra had made to close herself off had been futile. She’d seen a few ghosts wandering around, but none had tried to make contact with her. Only that pesky guy from the bar last night, and the young woman from the café this morning.
As she buckled up, she took stock of Dylan’s features and began to notice a slight resemblance to Zach. Both men had thick, dark hair, blue eyes and a strong jawline, but Dylan’s face was longer than his brother’s. Oh yeah, she could see it now, in the daylight, and felt like slapping her forehead and murmuring “D’oh!”
She’d slept with her boss’s little brother.
Oh, Alexandra, how do you get yourself into these things?
He directed the car into traffic and caught her looking at him. “I’m gonna ask you some things, and I expect the truth.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
His chest moved beneath a deep breath. “Why are you in Charleston?”
Ah, heck. Of course that would be the first thing he asked.
“I’m looking for someone.” There. That was the truth.
“Who?”
Well, crap. “A friend’s brother. I’ve been led to believe he’s in trouble.” Please don’t ask for a name.
“What kind of trouble?”
“I have no idea. That’s partly why I’m here. To figure it out.” She flexed her hand in a circle motion. “My information so far has come from … my special abilities.”
He sent her a narrow-eyed look before focusing on the road again. “Mind telling me what your abilities are exactly?”
She shrugged. “I’m a psychic medium. Any dreams, visions, or voices I hear are from the spirits feeding me information.”
“And there are ghosts everywhere, all of the time?” He scoffed. “So all ghosts are crime-fighting ghosts? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Most have the same personalities they had when they were alive. There are plenty of ghosts who keep to themselves, just as there are plenty who like to help if they see an opportunity.” She pursed her lips as she considered his words. “Although I have met some who consider themselves vigilantes of a sort. I met this one guy last year who died on Halloween. I swear, he loved that he’d died dressed as Batman. He used to—”
“Spare me the ghost stories,” Dylan growled. “When did you get here?”
“Last night.” She felt her face warm. “I checked into my hotel, went to the bar to grab something to eat, and you know the rest.”
He grimaced and glanced toward his window, hiding his expression from her. “So you’re ditching your search for your friend’s brother to help us with this case, for free?” He shook his head. “Sorry, honey. Something doesn’t smell right here.”
“Probably that left-over omelet sandwich. I’d toss that bag soon if I were you.”
His lips twitched. “I wasn’t talking about the omelet and you know it.”
Her muscles bunched in that way they always did when she met a skeptic a-hole hell-bent on dismissing her, and nothing she said or did could persuade him to the opposite.
Where the heck was Rebecca? Alexandra would have given anything in that moment for his mother to share some information to really freak him out.
“I don’t expect you to understand. I have a question for you now.”
He nodded. “Alright.”
“What does that grim reaper drawing have to do with the woman who was murdered in the cemetery?”
His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
A series of images flashing in her mind momentarily disoriented her. The grim reaper cartoon she’d already seen this morning. An image of water. A woman’s hand falling into water. Water flowing onto sand.
She blinked when the road came into focus again in front of her. She blew out her breath and glanced toward the back seat. She didn’t see the dead young woman sitting back there, but Alexandra suspected the woman was hitching a ride and feeding her information telepathically.
This young woman must be the victim. That’s why she was drawn to me, but she’s new, still confused, probably scared. Trying to see if she can trust me before she reveals herself in full.
Alexandra returned her attention to the man beside her. “She wasn’t killed in the cemetery, was she? Her body was just placed there after.”
He shifted in his seat. “What?”
“She was killed near water.”
Dylan shook his head and then laughed. “This is Charleston. Water is all around us.”
A-hole.
Alexandra felt a little nauseous—that sometimes happened after such visions—so she placed a hand on her stomach and willed it away. “I can’t begin to explain to you how this works, but when it happens, like it happened this morning when I saw the newspaper, it doesn’t matter what else I have on my plate. I feel such a strong sense of urgency about this case right now. I had to offer my help.”
Because Alexandra knew, deep in her soul, that whoever killed the woman found in the cemetery would kill again.
Soon.

Chapter Three (#u2addfd17-38c3-50ef-9e63-94c398d1804f)
The sterile, gray-walled hallway was empty except for a handful of people dressed in scrubs, some carrying books or backpacks, as Dylan led Alexandra through a door marked MEDICAL AND FORENSIC AUTOPSY SECTION. She’d remained quiet as he’d pulled into the Medical University of South Carolina’s parking lot, but her curiosity finally got the better of her.
“Is this a school or a hospital?” Alexandra asked.
“Both. It’s a teaching hospital.”
Her throat tightened. “Is this where the coroner’s office is?”
“No.”
An anxious feeling nestled in her chest and refused to leave. “But this is where he performs autopsies?”
Dylan didn’t answer, which told her all she needed to know.
The bastard was bringing her to see the girl’s dead body. Some warning would have been nice. She slowed her steps to a stop, and with a heaving sigh, he finally turned and acknowledged her.
“The staff here handles them and sends their report to our coroner. I don’t have time to wait for it.” He motioned her toward another door. “After you.”
Great. He actually was taking her to the autopsy room. Goosebumps lifted the hairs on her arms at that realization. Alexandra had assisted other police, sure, but none had ever taken her to a morgue before. She wasn’t sure she could handle it, quite frankly.
Dead people, no problem. Dead bodies, hell no.
Her feet wouldn’t move, and she reached out a hand to grab the wall beside her. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re being mean and cruel, and trying to scare me away.”
His eyebrows shot up, even as his shoulders relaxed. “What? You mean you’ve never seen a dead body before?” A smirk played at the edges of his mouth. “In your line of work? Come on. I thought psychics got their information from things like this. You know, touching stuff.”
Touching a dead person in the autopsy room? Was he out of his ever-lovin’ mind?
Oh, she’d seen plenty of dead people in ghost form, and a few times at funerals. She didn’t particularly care to ever see one up close and personal after a medical examiner had cut it open.
The scent of some harsh cleaning chemical nearby assaulted her nostrils and sent her stomach on a gymnastics routine.
“Since what I do is new to you, I’ll cut you some slack. I don’t need to see a body in order to—” Ugh, she still felt nauseous from earlier. This wasn’t helping. She waved a hand. “—to be able to communicate with the person. Spirits, at least young spirits, tend to linger near the person, place or object they valued most in life. Eight times out of ten, it wasn’t their body.”
Dylan’s mouth pulled into a tight line as his eyes seemed to trace her features. Was she turning green? Man, she felt like she might be. “Fine. There’s a chair in the office around the corner. Wait there. I’ll try to make this quick.”
Nodding, she hurried to find that chair before her mind and body conspired to faceplant her right there in the hallway. She found one in a small, empty room and dove for it. Her face grew hot as her vision blurred and the room spun around her.
Oh, man. Not good.
Forcing deep breaths in and out of her lungs, she squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her head between her knees. Breathe. Breathe. Okay. Everything’s okay now.She repeated the mantra over and over until the kaleidoscope of color behind her eyelids stopped. She slowly opened her eyes and sat up. This had happened before, most memorably when she’d been visiting a cousin after foot surgery, glanced down at the freshly stitched wound on the swollen limb propped on a pillow, and abruptly lost consciousness.
Given the assortment of strange and unnatural injuries she’d seen among the dead over the years, one might expect her to be blasé about the real ones, too, but nope, she was a first-class wimp when it came to blood and gore. Her mind had always been able to disconnect when a ghost manifested a slit throat or bloody gash, much the way many people did when watching horror films, but put her near a hypodermic needle or flesh wound, and she was horizontal in seconds.
She reached for the lightswitch on the wall above her shoulder and flicked it on. She yelped when she spotted the elderly woman sitting in the chair behind the desk across from her.
“Geez!” She held a hand to cover her racing heart. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you before.”
The woman said nothing.
With cold, void eyes, the grandmotherly type just sat there, staring at Alexandra with absolutely no emotion on her weathered face.
Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump.
The sound of blood rushing through Alexandra’s ears intensified.
Oh no. Please, no.
Swallowing hard, Alexandra grabbed the arms of her chair. She’d met a lot of ghosts in her time and could easily distinguish between the living and the dead. Ghosts emitted sparkly auras, but living people had no auras at all that Alexandra could see.
Neither did this old lady. Alexandra’s heart raced and her stomach did continuous somersaults beneath the ominous, intense stare aimed in her direction. Those eyes were…unnatural.
Ghost?
No, she didn’t think so.
“What are you?” she whispered.
The old woman tilted her head and examined Alexandra even more closely. In a deep, gravelly voice, the woman countered with “What are you?”
Alexandra fingered the gold cross at her throat as she slowly rose from the chair, her gaze unwilling to leave the old woman. She said the silent prayer her grandmother had once taught her—By the power of Saint Michael and all the angels and saints, please keep me safe from harm—as she felt for the doorway behind her.
Hurrying out of the room, she glanced down both directions of the hallway, searching for the entrance she and Dylan had come through. Screw this. She’d wait outside by the car.
She spotted the familiar door and hurried toward it, but her feet came to another abrupt halt as figures down the hall turned toward her.
Nervous laughter bubbled through her chest when she saw not one, not two, but three more dead people standing in front of the door marked EXIT. They were all staring back at her.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
This wasn’t right. Dead people shouldn’t be hanging around the hospital-slash-morgue. They should be following their loved ones around or something. Not this.
They all advanced at once, chattering over one another so that Alexandra couldn’t make out the details of what any one was saying.
“Help me! Please help me!” One man began begging as he reached for Alexandra’s arm. His grasp was strong and determined. “My wife? Do you know where she is?”
“Where am I?” A middle-aged woman asked, pushing that man aside to clasp Alexandra’s elbow. “My children. Do you know where they are?”
“Outta the way!” A stern-looking old man in a hospital gown knocked them both aside and pressed Alexandra closer to the wall.
Alexandra mentally exclaimed for everyone to give her some space. At least, she hoped she didn’t yell the words aloud.
The three figures all fell silent and backed away, and that’s when she spotted the fourth figure, standing behind them all.
A gargled, sickening sound was coming from the naked man. His face was mangled and bloody. No features were distinguishable.
He reached out a hand toward Alexandra, and she screamed.
***
“Not that I’m complaining or anything, but you guys almost never come by here when we’re doing this. What gives?” Dr. Jeffrey Watkins removed the bloody gloves he wore and then washed his hands in the sink and flicked water off his fingers.
As one of five professors and medical examiners on the pathology staff at the university, Watkins was the only one Dylan had met, and he sent up a silent prayer of thanks for his one piece of good luck today. It would have sucked if he’d had to explain himself to someone new.
Dylan veered around the medical instruments that always gave him the heebie jeebies and tried not to look at the corpses barely covered on the examining tables a few feet away. The pretty, young autopsy technician Dylan didn’t know gave him a brief smile and left the room.
“My captain wants this case solved, and soon.” He gestured toward the body he was here to investigate. Candice Christopher. Twenty-two, a recent honors college graduate, and too damn young to be lying on that table. “I thought I’d come see if I could get a jump on that report.”
He didn’t mention that he’d hoped to shake the supposed psychic he’d been saddled with too. Guilt tugged at his conscience. Bringing Alexandra here had been a stupid thing to do, but the sooner he got rid of her and put his focus back on solving this crime, the better.
He’d have liked to have gotten to know her a little better, spend some more time in bed maybe, but that plan had been shot to hell and back.
Besides, the idea of someone pretending to be psychic sent his blood pressure up a few millimeters. Psychics made him think too much about his older brother, Zach, who was as dead to him as the bodies in this room.
A clang of metal in the sink snapped his attention back to the medical examiner.
“You’re in luck. Charlie told me this one was a rush job, so we did this one first,” Watkins said, mentioning the coroner both he and the police department dealt with regularly. “I haven’t finalized our report yet.”
“Did you find anything I should know?”
Watkins nodded and moved toward the body, slid the sheet lower and pointed out a small swollen spot on the woman’s arm. “Same as the others. Our guy used a needle to inject about 10 milliliters of chloroform. She was dead of cardiac arrest within minutes. The rest was done to her afterward.”
“So it’s the same suspect?”
Watkins nodded and tugged the sheet back up. “This one was a little different. I found sand under the fingernails on her right hand and salt water in her lungs, but that’s not what killed her.”
“Water?” Dylan blinked in surprise, remembering Alexandra’s words from earlier. “So she wasn’t killed in the cemetery?”
“Hard to say for sure, but I doubt it. She’d been dead about eight hours before she was found.”
What was he supposed to make of that? No way had she been in that cemetery eight hours before someone found her body. Some of the ghost tours trampled through that graveyard up until midnight, and her body had been found around two this morning by a homeless guy looking for a place to sleep.
That was a short window of time for someone to have carried a dead body off the street, positioned it grotesquely and gotten away without being seen. Someone had to have noticed something. Dylan made a mental note to check with the directors of the city’s night tours to find out which one had last been by there and when.
The sound of a scream diverted his attention, and he turned just in time to see Alexandra burst through the double doors to the autopsy room. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide and crazed as she stumbled toward him. His hands reached out to steady her as she fell against him, her fingers clasping his arms with an iron grip. Her hair whipped around her shoulders as she glanced frantically behind her.
What the? Was she being chased?
“Dylan!” she cried, sagging against him. “Oh, thank heaven!”
“What happened?”
She squeezed his middle, but he was too preoccupied with figuring out what the hell was going on to respond. His protective instincts kicked into gear and he tried pushing her away and behind him, but she was stuck to him like a leech.
Watkins hurried to the doors, opened them and glanced both ways down the hallway. The other man’s shoulders relaxed as he turned around, his expression just as puzzled as Dylan’s probably was.
“I don’t see anyone,” Watkins said.
The tension began to seep from Dylan’s muscles. “Sorry. She’s with me.”
Pushing herself away, Alexandra closed her eyes and shook her head, gesturing wildly. She danced around in the same spot, wiggling her fingers in that way little girls did when they were grossed out or had to pee. “No. No, you can’t see them. One guy…his face is all…” she shuddered as she waved a hand in front of her face. “Mangled. He’s dead. They’re all dead. They all want…” She opened her eyes and looked at him. She’d stopped trembling. “Dylan, can we please leave?”
Her nose scrunched. The odor in the room was hard for most to stomach. Her pallor turned an unnatural gray. She looked like she was about to toss some cookies.
“Mangled?” Watkins repeated. He thumbed over his shoulder and started walking toward a second examining table, where a body was covered with a light blue sheet. “Are you here for this guy too?”
Watkins ripped back the sheet, and Dylan felt his stomach lurch. A man—or at least, he assumed it was a man by the width of those broad shoulders—looked like he’d been in one hell of a fight, eyes swollen and bloody, nose either missing or sunk in, and a deep gash in—
Dylan had to look away.
“This guy was in a boating accident. Not a homicide.” Watkins threw the sheet back over the poor schmuck’s face, but it was too late.
Alexandra made a squeaking sound deep in her throat and sagged against him. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her body went suddenly limp.
He caught her seconds before she would have hit the ground.
***
“Alexandra? Alexandra, honey, are you okay?”
The echo of a woman’s voice and a warm, gentle touch on her cheek teased at the edges of Alexandra’s consciousness like an annoying alarm radio set on low. She stretched out to hit the snooze button, wanting nothing more than to snuggle deeper into the darkness, but her fingers touched nothing but air.
“Alexandra, it’s me. I’m here.”
She knew that voice. Blinking her eyes open, she saw Rebecca Collins leaning over her. She sucked in a deep breath and reached out to hug Dylan’s mother. The older woman engulfed her in return, rubbing her back and murmuring, “There. You’re all right. You just had a bit of a scare.”
The fog cleared and Alexandra remembered. The spirits harassing her for help, demanding attention, and Mr. Hamburger Face freaking her the heck out by physically shoving her against the wall when she asked him to leave her alone. He hadn’t realized he was dead, and had gotten violent when she’d tried to coax that truth into him. And then the old woman had appeared behind them all, exuding malice and negativity as thick as cigarette smoke. It was almost as if the woman was controlling the dead people, commanding them to overwhelm Alexandra. Well, it had worked! Alexandra had lost it.
She’d never encountered anything like that old woman before.
She’d never encountered a lot of the things she’d experienced in that hospital. Only old, experienced ghosts could move or touch things with force. Hamburger Face hadn’t even been dead twenty-four hours, but he’d shoved her against a wall.
How?
Pulling back now, she looked around. The cold, sterile medical room was gone. Dylan was gone. The familiar sight of Alexandra’s bedroom surrounded them.
Her muscles sank with relief.
“I’m dreaming.” She lifted a hand to touch her forehead. “This isn’t real. That explains why everything’s been so screwy.”
She could have only been dreaming that she’d traveled to Charleston and found Dylan. Had she found him? She was so disoriented. She had no idea. She could have been having a serious nightmare—minus the erotic bits at the beginning with Mr. Delicious. Those parts of the dream, if she’d been dreaming, she hadn’t minded at all.
“Honey, I need you to listen to me.” Rebecca’s hands felt solid as they cupped Alexandra’s face, confusing her even more. Rebecca hadn’t been dead long enough to master the skill of touch. “We don’t have much time.”
“Where have you been? I think I found your son.” Yes, she knew she had. It was getting easier to recognize this delusion for what it was. The giant stuffed red monkey sitting on her nightstand was a dead giveaway. She didn’t own any such novelty, as cute as it was. And her walls weren’t blue either.
If this was a dream, then…
Alexandra grasped Rebecca’s arm, something she’d only be able to do in a dream state. “Woman, where the heck have you been? I’ve been freaking worried about you!”
“I know, honey. I’m sorry.” Rebecca’s face tightened. “I need you to do something for me. Take Dylan and leave this place. Alexandra, you’re in danger. You’re both in danger.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in harm’s way. I didn’t realize he knew. I didn’t know he would recognize you.”
“Who knew? Knew what? What are you—?”
A gasp ripped from her lungs as her eyes flew open again, blurring into focus on Dylan’s chiseled features so close to her own. A man stood over his shoulder, peering down at her with a mixture of concern and curiosity. The coroner, or whoever he was.
“Alexandra? Are you all right?” Dylan’s softly spoken question calmed the panic clawing at her chest at the realization of where she was. Her fingers touched cold metal. Oh. My. Word. Was she on a dissecting table? She tried to push up, but he stilled her.
“Easy.” He pushed her back. “Trust me when I say you’d rather be lying on this table than the floor.”
Her head spun. “Dylan?” She blinked away the haze and struggled again to sit up.
The smell of ammonia was strong, heightening her senses, bringing her closer to awareness. Dylan shifted one arm away from her and passed a pungent-smelling cloth to the man hovering around them. Sweet heavens. She’d passed out. Oh, look, a real mangled face, and wham, she’d been down faster than Marie Osmond that time on Dancing with the Stars.
How embarrassing.
“I’m sorry.” She swallowed and moved to lower her legs to the floor, but Dylan kept her from standing.
“Give yourself a minute.” The other man said. “Are you dizzy or anything?”
She shook her head and let her hand fall to Dylan’s chest while she struggled to get a grip. Um, I don’t think I should be gripping him though. The warmth of his solid abs reminded her of the sculpted muscles hidden beneath his shirt, so she moved her hand to his bicep instead and…oh my.
He really was in good shape. She didn’t think she’d ever dated or known a man as cut as him.
“You work out a lot, don’t you?” Oh, geez. Had she really just said that out loud? She bit back a groan.
His brows scrunched in confusion, but then a slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I try to keep in shape.” He carefully guided her into a standing position. “Mind explaining what the hell that was all about?”
Sighing, she sagged against him, grateful for his warmth and support, no matter how temporary it might be. “Place is crawling with ghosts. They overwhelmed me.”
His body tensed, and a chill replaced his body heat as he moved away from her. “I think it’s time we headed back to the office.” His hand on the small of her back pushed her forward a little. “Thanks, Watkins. Sorry for the dramatics. It won’t happen again.”
“Sure. No problem.” The other guy was staring at her as if she’d just flown over the cuckoo’s nest and landed in his cereal.
She couldn’t blame him. Nice way to make a first impression, King. You ditz.She really needed to work on her fainting-at-the-sight-of-blood tendencies if she was going to be a badass private investigator.
Dylan practically dragged her down the hallway, his feet marching to an increasingly angry rhythm as he headed for the exit. His grip on her arm was punishing in its pressure. It helped refocus her on the physical. “What’s your problem?” she demanded, tugging her arm free of his hold. “I’m the one who just passed out.”
He whirled and cornered her against the wall. “You want to know what my problem is? Right now it’s you. You might think this is some kind of game, but this is my job. A young woman lost her life last night, and while I should be out tracking down the person who did it, I’m stuck babysitting you. Do us both a favor, and give up the charade, all right?”
He’d just put Alexandra through a personal hell, and he was accusing her of playing games? She punched a finger at his chest. “Don’t you dare get an attitude with me after the stunt you just pulled. You think this is a game to me?” She gestured toward the room they’d just departed. “She’s not the first victim, and she won’t be the last. I’m here to help you, you—you—” Her mind searched for the worst insult she could conjure. Gah, he was so frustrating! “You medieval dipstick!”
Shoving past him with a frustrated groan, she pushed the exit door open with such force that it whacked the outside wall hard and loud, causing a poor young woman on the other side to jump nervously and squeal in alarm.
“Sorry,” Alexandra murmured as she walked past the girl.
She was debating whether or not to make a detour around Dylan’s car and find a bus or cab when he caught up to her.
“Wait a second.” He grabbed her arm again—she was getting tired of him doing that—and frowned down at her. “What do you mean, she’s not his first victim?”
She scoffed. “Exactly what I said.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know.” She crossed her arms. “There was a man recently found dead in an alley. Same killer.” She bit her lower lip as she remembered the cartoon she saw anytime she thought of the two deaths. “I keep seeing the grim reaper. It’s like it’s the killer’s calling card or something.”
Dylan said nothing, just stared at her for several uncomfortable seconds.
He finally relented. “Get in the car.”
“Are you going to keep being an ass?”
“Probably. Would you just get in the car already? I want to show you something.”
“What?”
“Something that will help me trust you or prove you’re just taking advantage of the situation.”
Ah, he wanted to test her. That she could handle. She was used to skeptics. She usually reached out to the nearest spirit, asked them to peek over the skeptic’s shoulder, so to speak, and tell her whatever the answer was to his secret test. Piece of cake.
It was the uncertainty she felt over everything else that had happened that caused her to hesitate. It was as if everything she thought she knew about ghosts was turning out to be questionable. People came to her for help because she knew these things, dammit. How could she be so wrong? Was it this city? That old woman? What?
It took all of her effort to bury her pride and get in his vehicle. This wasn’t about reuniting her new boss with his brother anymore. This was about catching a killer, and she figured she didn’t really have a lot of choice in the matter.
One thing was certain though. As soon as she helped Dylan find the sadistic sonofabitch using Charleston as his personal playground, she was out of here.
The sooner, the better.

Chapter Four (#u2addfd17-38c3-50ef-9e63-94c398d1804f)
How the hell was he going to pull this off?
Dylan rifled through the drawer, pulled out an old manila file, and then shoved it back in again. His idea had seemed like a good one on the ride back to the station, foolproof, even, but now that he was trying to figure out the specifics of it, doubts began flooding his mind.
His plan had been to give Alexandra some crumbs on an old case, one that had already been solved, and watch her flounder on the details, thus proving there was nothing extraordinary about her. When his plan worked, she’d hightail it out of here with her tail between her legs, and he could get down to business catching this killer.
But what if he chose a case that had gotten extensive media coverage, and Alexandra had caught some of the details on one of those forensics shows on cable? The case he’d originally intended to use went back in the drawer. It hadn’t been high profile, but he knew reporters had picked up on it. Damn. It didn’t help that his own knowledge of the solved cases here was limited. He’d only been here for a little over a year.
Maybe something older?
Detective Reedus walked past, and Dylan called out to him. As the bureau’s senior detective, Reedus had been the first person to welcome Dylan on board and had worked in Charleston forever. The man seemed to know everything. “I need a case that’s been solved without a lot of public knowledge.”
Reedus tilted his head and frowned, so Dylan waved him closer and kept his voice low as he explained why he needed the file.
“Psychic?” Reedus perked up. “Ah, geez, Collins, don’t tell me the Cap laid one of those on you.” He reached into the drawer, glanced through some files and retrieved one. He cocked a smile. “Pretty clever idea you had to call her out. Mind if I watch?”
Dylan opened his mouth to say no but thought better of it after glancing through the file. “Did you work on this case?” He gestured with the folder. It was thicker than he would have liked.
“Damn straight. Did half the paperwork in there.”
He didn’t want to waste any more time than necessary. “Then come on.”
Reedus walked into the conference room first, and Dylan almost plowed into the back of him when the older man suddenly planted himself on the carpet.
Reedus turned and backhanded Dylan’s bicep. “My colleague didn’t tell me he was working with a gorgeous woman. Collins, what the hell is wrong with you?” Reedus held out his hand and introduced himself to Alexandra.
Alexandra was leaning back in a chair and tapping a rhythm on the table in front of her with her fingertips as if she was bored out of her mind. Considering he’d shared his plan with her before leaving the room, he’d half expected her to be jumpy and anxious, knowing there was no way she could get herself out of this one.
The woman continued to surprise him.
She reached up and accepted Reedus’s hand. “Nice to meet you, detective.”
Dylan shut the door behind them. “Detective Reedus worked on this case and can help me determine whether or not you’re just pulling things out of thin air.”
She sighed, and the sound translated as annoyed. She reached her hand across the table and wiggled her fingers in a gimme gesture. “Let’s not waste too much time on this, okay? I’d rather be working on a case I can help on.”
Surprised again, Dylan tried not to show it as he sank into the seat across from her. He pulled a plastic bag containing a necklace out of the folder. “It helps you to touch something that belonged to the victim, right?”
“It’s called psychometry, and I can only do that if a spirit connected to the object is still here and willing to talk.”
Yeah, whatever.
“I’m not gonna to share anything about this case with you first.”
“Good.” She snatched the necklace from his hand and looked down at the table. “Just give me a second to see what they show me.”
“They?” Reedus asked from where he leaned against the wall watching.
Alexandra ignored him, staring at the oak tabletop as her fingers toyed with the chain of the necklace. Her eyes glazed over, and silence filled the room while she fondled the charm and chain alternately. Oh, man. She was good at this. Dylan wondered if she had a background in the theater and decided to ask her before she left.
Her voice was firm and confident when she finally spoke. “The victim was a man. He was tall. Mustache. Maybe 190 pounds.”
Dylan glanced at Reedus and saw the older man’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Dylan had been certain the necklace would throw her off on the gender. A small religious medal on a chain, it had struck him as being a bit feminine in appearance. Maybe he’d been wrong.
She took a deep breath. “I’m feeling something at my throat. Like I can’t breathe.” She looked up at Reedus. “Was he hung? From a tree? Like, a tree in his own yard?”
Reedus nodded and moved to take the seat beside Dylan. He leaned forward on his elbows and waited quietly for more.
Dylan shifted in his chair. How the devil was she doing this?
“He’s dressed funny.” She scrunched her nose. “Might be the seventies?” She shook her head. “It took you a while to solve this one. Hmmm. There was some speculation it had been a suicide, but it wasn’t. That’s why. Right?” She fingered the necklace and tilted her head, staring straight at the wall over Dylan’s shoulder. “Your killers worked together. It was a lynching-type murder. Like a hate crime. Oh, I know.” She blinked and looked at Reedus as if she’d just had a great epiphany. “He was gay. They killed him because he was gay. And they tried to make it look like a suicide.”
Reedus glanced back at Dylan and gave him one of his I’m-impressed expressions.
Alexandra held the necklace out to Dylan. “The ringleader died about ten years ago, and his wife gave up the other two people involved. He’d bragged about it to her once when he’d been drunk. She had a guilty conscience.”
Reedus chuckled and took the necklace before Dylan could. “Actually it was his sister and there were three arrests made, but you got everything else right. Good enough for me.”
Alexandra shrugged. “No psychic is one hundred percent accurate. We’re human. We make mistakes.” She tapped the table with a finger. “But I’m glad you caught those guys. I see a history of domestic violence with them. Nasty stuff.”
Surprise lit up Reedus’s face again. “Yeah, one of the guy’s wives led us to some evidence from the crime scene he’d kept. She was glad to get rid of him. Open and shut case.”
“And you’re telling me this didn’t get any media?” Dylan asked.
Reedus shook his head. “Not much. The victim’s family had disowned him because of his sexual orientation, and quite frankly, I think his father—a real religious asshole—was a bit relieved to be rid of him. They were ashamed, but fine believing it was suicide. No one on the force really took an interest in proving otherwise either. Times were different back then. If the killer’s sister hadn’t come forward, it would have remained a suicide.”
“What about when it was solved?” Dylan couldn’t believe this. There had to be some explanation for Alexandra’s guesses.
“Sure, they ran a piece on the local news. I think it lasted about thirty seconds. End of story.”
Dylan shook his head and addressed the woman across from them. “Tell me this. If you were getting your information from a spirit connected to that necklace, why weren’t you one hundred percent accurate?”
She released a sigh. “I don’t know, Dylan. My best guess is that it’s like a radio signal. Every now and then there’s some interference. I hear the information wrong or it comes across distorted because of something screwy in the transmission.”
Alexandra held up a hand before he could voice his next thought. “Look, you gave me nothing, and I gave you a lot. I think you’re just determined to find excuses, which is your prerogative. Stupid, but your prerogative. I’d really like to get back to the case I volunteered to help you with. Okay?”
Reedus chuckled and gestured toward her. “I like this woman, Collins. We should work with her more often.”
Yeah, and Dylan knew why. All it took was a pretty face and a hot body to win Reedus’s favor. He muttered a curse and put the bagged necklace back in the folder. Doubts nibbled at his conviction that she was a fraud.
Zach had been pretty convincing on TV, too. Don’t forget that.
Zach. He didn’t like the way he kept thinking about his brother today after working years to forget the bastard ever existed. He’d been twelve when his older brother had taken off, abandoned him and their mother as if they’d meant nothing, and Dylan had been a senior in high school when his girlfriend had pulled him over to her TV to watch a new show she’d become fixated on.
The Psychic Detective, starring Zachary Collins. “Gee, you kinda look like him, too,” his girlfriend had commented before asking if there was any relation.
Dylan had been horrified to realize his brother was actually passing himself off as a psychic. Zach had never shown any ounce of having those abilities growing up. He’d known it was a scam, had been pissed as hell that the brother he’d once worshipped had been unworthy of his praise.
The word “psychic” had been a hot button for him ever since.
But maybe he was being too narrow-minded. Just because his brother was a fraud didn’t mean they all were.
“Look,” he told Alexandra. “I’m willing to listen to whatever it is you have to tell me.” He leaned across the table. “But the second it becomes obvious to me that you’re conning me, that’s it. I’m done.”
A beautiful smile lit up her face. “Sounds fair to me. Can we get started now? I mean, seriously.”
“Wait here. I’ll go get the file so we can go over what we already know.”
If Alexandra King could help him solve this case, great. If not, he hadn’t lost anything but a little time.
***
Alexandra’s behind hurt from sitting too long, so she stood to pace the room while she once again studied the crime scene photos Dylan had shared with her.
She stared at the close-up photograph of Candice Christopher’s face. She was the young woman who’d been standing outside the café, the spirit who’d been feeding Alexandra information about the case.
She flipped between pictures showing Candice’s body positioned on her back, one hand covering her face, the other outstretched, and her jean-clad legs crossed at the ankle, and a second, more close-up picture of a tarot card. Dylan had explained that the card had been found next to the body, propped against a tombstone. There was nothing unusual about the card except what it represented. A grim reaper carried a scythe over the word DEATH.
“You okay looking at that?” Dylan asked, and she glanced at him, a little puzzled until she realized he was probably thinking of her penchant for fainting at such things.
“Yeah. Photos don’t bother me.” She flicked a dismissive hand and turned away. She focused on the first photo again. “He’s obviously trying to send a message with the positioning of the body and this card. But what?”
Alexandra had tried closing herself off again earlier, and thought it had held this time. She hadn’t yet opened herself up to information from the other side on this case. She’d wanted a moment to refresh her mind from the test he’d given her and look over the current files. But something was scratching at her consciousness, already trying to make itself known. She imagined a wall, the way her grandmother had taught her, and blocked it. Blocked everything. She liked to familiarize herself with the basic facts before she invited anyone else to weigh in on a criminal case. It helped her decipher the information she was given when she understood a little about it first.
“The other body was also positioned,” Dylan said, sliding a different folder across the table. “Killers don’t usually pose bodies, so yeah, I assume he’s trying to tell us something. Since the positioning is so different on all three of these, I have no idea what it could be.”
“When was the first victim found again?”
“Three months ago.”
Hmm. That was when his mother had started making a menace of herself, insisting Dylan was in danger. Oh, but Alexandra would love to talk to her right now.
He spread open a file and tapped a report. “Second victim was end of August. Third victim was yesterday.”
“So one every month? Any significance to the days?”
“What do you mean?”
“Were they found exactly one month apart or what?”
He shrugged. “Give or take a few days.” His eyes narrowed. “You think he’s on some kind of schedule?”
“I don’t know, Dylan. It might not be a bad idea to see what days the full moons were on.”
“Whoa.”
She glanced up at him. “What?”
“I know two of them were killed on the night of a full moon. I didn’t make that connection until now.” He rubbed at the back of his neck and began pacing. “I remember the first one. Reedus made a comment about the full moon bringing out the lunatics. Last night, I noticed the moon looked full.”
Alexandra reached for her phone and did an Internet search to verify the dates of the last three full moons. “Interesting. They were all killed on full moons.”
“Let me see that.” He stepped close and reached for her phone. Alexandra immediately grew aware of his warmth, his scent, his—
Stop it! He is your boss’s brother! No more touching!
Dylan glanced up, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. His eyes danced with excitement. Excitement that quickly took on a new focus when he seemed to realize how close they were standing. He stepped away.
He cleared his throat. “This is good. This means he probably won’t try to kill again until next month, end of October. Gives us time.”
“Halloween.” Alexandra reached for the newest file and skimmed the crime scene photos in it. A man’s body was propped from the waist up against the wall in an alley, his legs sprawled out in front of him on the cobblestone walkway. Spray-painted in black next to his head was one word. Reaper.
“So that’s his moniker,” she decided. “He wants to be known as the Grim Reaper.”
“Seems like it.”
“Okay.” She wiggled her shoulders to shake out the tension creeping in at that disturbing thought. “I’m going to concentrate now and see if I can find anyone who knows something that will help. I’m going to let them in now.”
Dylan straightened from his position leaning against the table. “Let them in?” His voice was skeptical again.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Not literally. I don’t ever allow them to take over my body. Now shut up so I can think for a minute.”
He crossed his arms, but said nothing else. Man, he was sexy when he did that. All brooding and hot.
Focus on the case, not on Mr. Delicious.
Alexandra closed her eyes and thought of the wall she’d erected in her head. She cracked it open and felt an electric jolt course through her veins like liquid fire. The word COPYCAT flashed in her mind along with DEATH over and over again. Several scenes from various, violent slasher films played in her head, and she felt pleasure at seeing them.
This guy must really love horror movies.
She could feel warm breath tease her ear as a woman’s voice whispered, “He’s always been fascinated by death. He’s fascinated by this city. It called to him, and he came. There was another…another he killed, just to see if he could actually do it.”
Her eyes opened, but she saw no one standing at her side. Clearing her throat, she repeated everything for Dylan’s sake.
“Copycat?” He sat down on the edge of the table. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I’m just telling you what I’m getting. I don’t understand it either.”
“Go on.”
She took a deep breath and paced along the length of the conference table. Nothing else was coming to her. The voice was gone, and so were the images. Slowly she completely lifted the wall.
Candice, you can trust me. I want to talk to you about your death. Will you help me catch your killer?
She spun at the end of the table and turned to pace the other way. The feeling of almost colliding with someone standing in front of her caused her to correct herself and step back. She lifted her gaze as her hands instinctively reached out to grab hold of the person she’d bumped into.
Candice Christopher was even more beautiful in death than she’d been in the college honors portrait attached to her file. Her long, red hair was pulled back from her face, and Alexandra recognized the clothes the younger woman wore as the same from the crime scene photos. The same clothes she’d been wearing at the café.
Okay. Here we go.
“What happened to me?” Candice’s voice trembled.
Alexandra wished Dylan weren’t in the room, because she never liked to converse with the dead with skeptics present. But this time, she made an exception.
“I’m so sorry. You’re dead.”
Candice’s eyes lowered to the floor, and she nodded. “Yes. That’s what I thought.”
“Excuse me? I’m what? ” Dylan said, and Alexandra shot him an impatient look along with a forceful “Shhhhh.” Didn’t he realize she wasn’t talking to him? Geez.
“I’m trying to help find the person who did this to you,” Alexandra said more gently to the ghost. “Can you tell me what you remember? Can you show me?”
Candice’s unblinking eyes fixated on Alexandra’s, and she nodded.
A flash of bright light temporarily blinded Alexandra, and she blinked her vision back into focus. The daylight was fading, the glow of orange glistening on the gray-blue ocean water just beyond the railing. Candice laughed over the backdrop of old beach music. A singer whined out the melody of “Good Vibrations” by the Beach Boys, and Alexandra turned to see a live band of young people playing on a makeshift stage while dancers whirled around her. She spun in a full circle and recognized that she was on a pier.
“I’ve really got to get home,” Candice told someone, drawing Alexandra’s attention back to her. “I’ll call you later.”
With a wave toward a group of three women, Candice began walking down the long dock, her flip flops making a distinct whack-whack sound against the wood. Alexandra followed, even though she knew her feet weren’t moving. On and on the young woman walked, as if the pier kept on for miles instead of the thousand or so feet it probably was, the music growing more and more distant.
Candice reached the end of the pier, which felt deserted and bereft. Her flip flops quieted when she stepped on sand. She turned suddenly at the sound of an animal’s whining. She bent and moved closer to the underbelly of the pier. The daylight had faded so much by now that only shadows could be seen.
Candice clicked her tongue several times. “Puppy?”
The whining continued, luring Candice deeper into the darkness as she cooed and pleaded for the unseen animal not to be afraid. The hair on the back of Alexandra’s neck suddenly lifted as goosebumps chased each other down her arms. She wanted to yell at Candice not to move any closer, but it was too late.
Candice disappeared into the shadows, and Alexandra followed. A pair of gloved hands snaked out of the shadows and snatched the young woman by her shoulders, dragging her further under the dock. Candice’s screams mingled with the howling horn and throbbing percussions in the distance as she fought against her attacker. She tore away from him and ran, sloshing through the surf beneath the pier, but the killer was fast and tackled her at the water’s edge. Alexandra watched in horror as the dark-clad shape of a man plunged a hypodermic needle into her arm from behind and injected something into her system. Candice continued to claw her way toward the water, her movements slowing until eventually her head lowered into the ebb and flow of the ocean’s edge. A bubble broke the surface, and then she went completely still.
“Alexandra!”
Alexandra felt a cough tear through her chest, and she realized she was clutching her throat with one hand and her chest with the other. Why couldn’t she breathe? Dylan had both hands on her shoulder and was shaking her, hard.
“Alexandra! Are you okay?”
She struggled to pull air into of her lungs and whispered “Yes,” feeling more than a little disoriented to see the plain beige walls of the conference room instead of the ocean and sand.
“What the hell was that about?” Dylan’s fingers gripped into her upper arms. He tried to push her into a chair, but she resisted.
“I know how she was killed, and where.”
He narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Leaving no detail unmentioned, she explained everything she’d just witnessed. Dylan finally let his hands fall away from her.
He swore and turned on his heels.
“What?” she demanded. “You don’t believe me?”
He placed his hands on his hips and spun back toward her. “That matches information I haven’t had time to put in her file yet. She was last seen at Folly Beach Pier, but her car was found a block away from the cemetery, about half an hour away from the pier. A witness told us they saw her driving away, but maybe…” His voice trailed off.
“Maybe they saw her car, but not her.” Alexandra stepped closer. “She was killed at that pier, Dylan. I know it.”
He nodded. “It would explain the ocean water in her lungs.”
“So you believe me?”
He stared at her for several seconds. “I’m keeping an open mind.”
Happiness rushed through Alexandra at his hard-earned admission, although she didn’t know why. It was always a high when someone came to appreciate her abilities, but she’d never felt so excited about it. Why did she care so much what this man thought of her? She barely knew him. Except in the Biblical sense.
There was a knock on the door, distracting Alexandra from her inappropriate thoughts. A uniformed officer opened the door and gestured at Dylan. “There’s a call for you, Collins. Person insists you’ll want to talk to him about the Christopher case. He refuses to leave a message. You want to take it, or—?”
“I’ll take it. Transfer it to my desk.” He told Alexandra, “Excuse me for a minute.” And then he left her alone.
***
Dylan made it to his desk before the first ring. Snatching up the receiver, he barked, “Detective Collins. I understand you have some information about a case I’m working on?”
Heavy breathing was the only response.
“Hello?” Sinking into his chair, Dylan lifted his hand and rubbed at his forehead. He was tired. Damn tired. He was grateful it was almost six o’clock, and that Alexandra would be leaving soon for the day. He hoped. The woman was a major distraction on multiple levels, and he could use some distance right about now. Distance to regroup and think. And sleep. Man, he hoped he could sneak in a nap after a quick bite to eat. “Hello? Anyone there?”
“I’m here,” a raspy voice responded softly. A man’s voice. Distorted.
Dylan waited for more, but the heavy breathing was all he got. “Look, I’m pretty busy at the moment. Do you have information to share, or can I transfer you back to our front desk so you can be redirected to the right person?”
“I’m calling you about the Grim Reaper.”
Every cell in Dylan’s body snapped to alert. The Grim Reaper info hadn’t been released to the public. “I’m listening.”
“Are you, Detective Collins? Or are you too busy playing with your new girlfriend to appreciate my offerings?”
“Who is this?”
A sinister laugh trickled down the line. “None other than the Reaper himself, of course. I wanted to let you know how pleased I am that you brought in Alexandra King so soon. It pleases me very much.”
Dylan looked around and spotted Reedus. He lifted his arm and snapped his fingers, then gestured to the phone. When Reedus got close enough, Dylan wrote on a piece of paper, This might be our killer. Get me a trace. He leaned closer to the phone and said, “Who?”
“I recognized her last night, when you met in the bar. Tell me, detective, is that how you pay your consultants? By sleeping with them?”
Dylan stifled a curse. Whoever this guy was, he knew a lot of information.
“Who says she’s a consultant?”
“I don’t have time for games. I have one demand to make, and then I have to hang up.”
“Okay. I’ll bite. What?”
“Release my name to the media. I want to see my name on the news by tomorrow. If I don’t, you won’t be pleased with the results.”
A click preceded a dial tone, and Dylan swore. “Did we get a trace?” He directed the comment at no one in particular, but Reedus lowered the phone receiver in his hand and shook his head from across the room. He slammed his phone down.
“He was using an unregistered mobile, one of those prepaid ones.” Reedus coughed as he hurried over. “We didn’t have him on long enough to triangulate the call.”
This guy was smart. Too smart.
How the devil had the caller known so much about Alexandra? Was she an accomplice to this whole thing? How else had the caller known who she was?
He swore again.
His gut told him she wasn’t involved, but he’d have to run a more thorough background check after this. Where had she been at the time of the first murder? And if she wasn’t an accomplice, then she was a potential target.

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