“You can call me anytime. Night or day.”

Desi lifted her head. Her sideways gaze, her blue eyes shadowed by luxurious lashes, turned him to mush. If she suggested chaining him at her front door like a watchdog, he’d do it.

“Are you hitting on me?” Her voice held a smoky note.

“Do you want me to?”

She dropped her gaze. “No.”

No surprise, but it was disappointing. Bench-pressing a hundred and fifty pounds took less effort than it took to pull his hand away. “Too bad. The offer stands anyway. Call me night or day. I live to protect and serve.”

Midnight Investigation
Sheryl Lynn

MILLS & BOON

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A very special thank you to Becky Agronow, Marina Bridges, Diane Gratzmiller, Sandi Kraley and Colleen Palmer, who poked and prodded me to write this book. You goils are the best. My eternal gratitude goes to Marylin Warner, the best writing buddy ever, who undangles my modifiers and keeps me laughing.

Thank you, too, to my wonderful Tom and Abby, who only gripe a little bit about me writing instead of cooking. And thank you, Tristan, for bringing the lovely Heidi into the fold.

A special shout-out goes to the gang at steve-o-meter. com for all their support and goofiness. Props to you all. Last, but not least, thank you Jason Hawes and Grant Wilson of the Atlantic Paranormal Society. You guys don’t know me, but you sure inspire me.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sheryl Lynn lives in Colorado with her husband of almost thirty years, two oversized dogs and three crazy cats. When not writing Intrigue novels, she’s writing articles for steve-o-meter. com or making bead art and jewelry. If you want to say hi, contact her at sheryl.lynn_intrigue@yahoo.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Desi Hollyhock —A paranormal investigator with a skeptical eye and a knack for debunking ghosts.

Buck Walker —A cop with a secret—he can talk to the dead.

Gwen Hollyhock —Desi’s sister wants nothing more than to see a ghost.

Dallas Stone —Founder of the Rocky Mountain Paranormal Research Team, he’s on a quest to find the truth.

Mary Hollyhock —She loves her granddaughters and wants to help them in times of need.

Charles and Veronica Skillihorn —Their tragedy continues even after death.

The Dark Presence —A murderous ghost whose jealousy makes him deadly.

Contents

ChapterOne

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter One

“I’m not a forgiving person.” Desi Hollyhock focused her sternest look on the newest member of the Rocky Mountain Paranormal Research Team, or Rampart, as they were known. “Rampart is all about scientific method. None of that woo-woo stuff. One strike and you’re out. Got it?”

Buck Walker nodded.

Desi kept her voice barely above a whisper, but she figured the recorders had picked up her words anyway. Big deal. Everyone knew she did not want a psychic on the team. Just because she’d been outvoted did not mean she had to put up with nonsense.

So far Buck had behaved himself. He’d helped the team set up cameras and recorders in this supposedly haunted house near downtown Colorado Springs. Quietly attentive, he listened to explanations about why recorders were placed in certain locations. His job was to learn, and he took it seriously. Neither the house’s creepy atmosphere nor working in darkness fazed him.

He focused now on a handheld digital video recorder. It was a night-vision camera that magnified even the faintest light source. The glow from the viewing screen illuminated his face. He had a penlight hooked beneath his pinkie finger, and its thin beam pointed at her shoes.

“Safety first,” she said. “Watch where you put your feet. Watch your head. Stick with me. We work in pairs so we can corroborate personal experiences. We keep each other calm, too. If you get freaked out, let me know.”

“I won’t get freaked out,” he said.

“Everybody gets spooked. Eventually.” She pointed her flashlight in the direction of the infrared camera taped atop a stepladder. “Stay away from the power cords. Keep your voice down, especially when you’re near a digital recorder. They are very sensitive.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. The corners of his mouth twitched.

Did he laugh at her? It was bad enough that his height emphasized her lack of it, and bad enough the other female members of the team had indulged in raunchy comments about his dark good looks and buff body, but mostly she resented getting stuck training a guy who claimed psychic ability.

“I am a police officer,” he said. “I’m used to working in the dark.” He smiled, his calm, controlled air saying, Do your best. You can’t rattle me. “Why are we working in the dark, anyway? Spirits are just as active in daylight.”

Spirits, she thought with disgust. “It’s practical. There are fewer people around, less electrical use and outside noise to interfere with the equipment. Not so many nosy neighbors trying to see what we’re up to. Most of our clients do not want others to know they’re having paranormal experiences. It’s a pain sometimes.” She held up a small digital camera. “I’ll warn you when I’m going to take a picture. I’ll say ‘flash.’ Close your eyes so you aren’t blinded. Any questions?”

“What’s the best way to use this camera?”

“Hold it close, right under your breastbone.”

He raised the camera a few inches.

“Let it move with your body so it sees what you see. Keep your movements smooth and stay aware. You don’t want to forget you’re holding it and end up with a movie starring the floor.”

He turned slowly, taking in the big room, his gaze intent on the black-and-white image on the viewing screen.

She turned slowly, too, examining the room that took up the entire third floor. Six Rampart members were investigating tonight. Tony and Tara were outside in the step-side van that served as the command center, watching the IR camera monitors and making sure the equipment didn’t glitch. Desi and Buck investigated the second and third floors, while Dallas and Ringo took the first floor and basement. In about two hours the teams would rotate.

This house had a sad history. Built in the 1880s, it had been a monument to a silver miner’s hard work and perseverance in the harsh Rocky Mountains. Since the 1950s it had sat empty—except for brief occupancies by tenants—slowly strangled by overgrown ivy and worn by the elements. The city had been on the verge of condemning it and having it torn down when the current owners, the Moores, bought it with high hopes of restoring it to its former glory.

The Moores had begged the Rocky Mountain Paranormal Research Team for help. They insisted the house was haunted. The activity was so frightening the Moores were ready to walk away and to hell with the money and work they’d invested.

Desi shone her flashlight at debris piled under a window. The walls were in various stages of undress, with patches of hideous cabbage-rose wallpaper, areas of missing plaster with lathing bared like bones, and large sections where the framing showed. The wooden floor was painted. Where interior walls had been removed, the beautiful original oak flooring was revealed. The Moores’ bed sat in a clean, uncluttered corner near a fancy little fireplace with Van Briggle tiles and a cast-iron screen.

“What are we looking for?” Buck asked.

“The Moores have owned the place a year, but only moved in about a month ago. They had to put on a new roof, completely redo the plumbing and install a furnace before the place was livable. Activity started as soon as they moved in. They hear voices and other noises, and somebody moving around.” Desi pointed the light at the corner near the bathroom door. “They’ve seen a figure that moves from there and across the windows, blocking the light.”

She worked her cold toes inside her sneakers. The room stank of chemicals and that sour funk old houses acquired after decades of absorbing odors. She examined an exposed framing timber. Black streaks and splotches marked water damage.

“Mrs. Moore claims something chokes her while she sleeps.” She then warned him: “Flash.” She took several pictures of the moldy walls. She photographed the high ceiling where telltale water stains spread from the coving.

Her walkie-talkie crackled. “Desi? This is Dallas.”

She unhooked it from her belt and thumbed the Transmit button. She spoke closely into the unit, keeping her voice down. “I’m here. Go ahead.”

“Are you still up on the third floor?”

“Sure are. The walls are full of mold. With all the chemicals and dust it’s no wonder the Moores say the place feels oppressive. It even feels creepy to me. It could account for her nightmares and sensation of being choked.”

“The basement is pretty bad, too,” Dallas said. “The electrical is a mess. Wires everywhere. The EMF readings are through the roof.”

Focused on the camera screen, Buck made his way slowly around the cavernous room. The camera light gave him a corona, outlining his body. He had exceptionally broad shoulders. His waist and hips were lean, and his legs were long. Calvin Klein would loved to have this guy model in one of those sexed-up jeans ads.

“You haven’t left the third floor? Been on the stairs?”

Dallas’s voice through the walkie-talkie startled her. She scowled at where her mind had wandered. “Not at all. Third floor only.”

“We heard someone walking around in the kitchen. We’re going to check it out.”

She hooked the unit back on her belt. A shiver ran through her. Even with a thermal shirt and a heavy sweatshirt, she had goose bumps. The walls and windows leaked icy air.

Buck asked, “What does the EMF meter do again?”

“It detects electromagnetic fields. The theory is that spirits need energy to manifest. If there are spikes in the readings, it could be because something is about to happen. A lot of people are sensitive to high EMFs. It can cause nausea, dizziness, flu-like symptoms, depression, even hallucinations.”

She resumed documenting mold, places where heavy-duty paint strippers had been used on the woodwork and power outlets. She slipped the camera into a pocket and from another pulled out an EMF meter. She slowly swept the room. Even around the power outlets the meter barely moved.

Buck asked, “Have you ever seen a ghost?”

The question irritated her, but his voice took the edge off. Low and even with rich tones and careful enunciation, his was a voice to make a person sit up and pay attention. She needed to be firm, let him know she was in charge and that this wasn’t a Halloween spook game they played. His smooth voice made her sound like a harpy by comparison. She wanted him to take her seriously, not think she was a bitch.

She forced a smile, determined to be professional and friendly. “I’ve never had any kind of personal experience. Nothing I can’t explain, anyway.”

“Do you hope to see a ghost?”

“This is research. It’s about gathering enough evidence to prove the paranormal is more than superstition and ghost stories. It’s also about ferreting out the hoaxes and scam artists.”

Especially phony psychics, she thought.

A creaking noise froze Desi in her tracks. Buck froze, too.

She focused her flashlight on the bedroom door. It hadn’t moved.

“It sounded like it came from the bathroom,” Buck whispered.

Another creak. There was no mistaking the eerie protest of rusty hinges as a door slowly opened.

B UCK HELD THE CAMERA steady on Desi while she examined the bathroom. A sensation akin to spiderwebs being dragged across skin tickled his nerves. This old house was definitely haunted.

He’d found the Rocky Mountain Paranormal Research Team Web site on the Internet. Their organization impressed him. Like Desi said, no woo-woo stuff. They sought evidence through scientific methods and counted numerous debunked hoaxes among their successes. It had taken Buck months to work up the nerve to contact Dallas Stone, founder and leader of the team.

After hearing Buck’s story, Dallas had set up a reading, with himself as the subject. Buck didn’t talk to people about his ability, and he only initiated contact with spirits when he sensed a compelling need. He didn’t know how to conduct a reading. Buck had been nervous and embarrassed, which worsened as Dallas sat in stony silence, his arms crossed and his body language controlled.

Finally, feeling like a fool, Buck had said, “If there’s anybody here who’d like to talk to Dallas, I can hear you.” He’d half hoped no spirits would show. Then they could have a good laugh, and Buck could apologize for wasting their time and leave, never to return. A male entity had shown up and shared one of Dallas’s secrets. When Buck revealed it, Dallas—a no-nonsense type, macho through and through—had broken down in tears.

Dallas had then surprised Buck by inviting him to join the team.

“They did a nice job in here,” Desi whispered. “Can you imagine how much it costs to renovate one of these old houses?”

The first time he’d met Desi Hollyhock, she’d swaggered into the room like a pirate and talked as tough as any veteran cop. Her attitude was what cops liked to call Taser bait. It might have unnerved him if she weren’t so tiny. He bet she had to stretch to claim more than three inches over five feet tall. He put her weight at one-ten, tops. Right now, in a bulky sweatshirt and cargo pants with multiple pockets bulging with ghost-hunting accessories, she looked like a little kid wearing her big brother’s clothing.

He kept the camera focused on her as she opened and closed every cabinet and drawer. The hinges and slides were silent.

The camera picked up every reflection so the sheen off her smooth, dark hair made it look blond on the screen. Her eyes had a silvery glow. Those crystal-blue eyes, so striking with her dark hair and pale skin, were burned into his memory. Eyes alive with energy and intelligence. Eyes that made him want to see how deep the toughness went.

Sexy.

Not so sexy was her dislike for psychics and mediums. A dislike so deep and contemptuous it sounded like a phobia. He’d been subjected to skepticism, scoffing, fear and, worst of all, painful hopefulness that his gift—curse—could solve problems. But Desi acted as if his very existence offended her.

He heard voices.

Desi froze, her head cocked. “Did you hear something?”

“Sounded like people talking.”

They heard faint laughter.

“I know that laugh. It’s Ringo.” Desi crouched next to the vanity, where a large floor vent was covered by a fancy-work grill. She held her hand over the vent. “No wonder it’s so cold up here. There’s barely any hot air coming through.” She pulled the walkie-talkie off her belt. “Dallas? Desi here. Where are you?”

Buck leaned in to better see the vent. He caught the scent of Desi’s hair, a mixture of sweetness and tang. He backed away.

“Basement. Furnace room. Where are you?”

“Still on the third floor, and we can hear you through the vent. Are there any doors?”

“One wall is covered with cabinets.”

“Check the doors, would you?”

In a few seconds came the eerie creak of old hinges.

“That’s it!” Desi exclaimed.

“It’s loose,” Dallas said. “It won’t stay closed.”

“Did the furnace come on within the last few minutes?”

“As a matter of fact, it did. Ah ha! The sudden rush of air moved the door?”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. This vent must come straight from the furnace room. It makes it sound like there’s a door opening in here.” She flashed a big smile at Buck. “Mystery solved.”

Her smile struck him right in the heart. It made her beautiful.

“All right,” she said. “We’re going to do some EVP work.”

“Wait,” Dallas said. “Do you have a K2 meter?”

Desi said, “I do, but it only works for you and Ringo.”

“Exactly,” Dallas said. “It’s making me paranoid that Ringo is working some kind of hoodoo on it.”

Ringo’s “Hey!” drifted through the vent.

“I’ll give it a shot.” Desi rose to her feet. In the main room she headed for the bed. She set the digital recorder on the quilted coverlet. Velcro ripped and she reached into a deep pocket on her pants.

Buck peered at the unit she held. It was about ten inches long in a plastic case and had a bank of glass bulbs.

“Electricians use them,” she said. “Dallas gets some interesting results with it. Me?” She shrugged. She turned it on and the glass bulbs lit up one by one, flashing from yellow to green to red. It darkened. She set the unit near the digital recorder.

The paranormal researchers had more gadgets than a patrol car. “What does it do?” Buck asked.

“Measures magnetic fields. Dallas and Ringo keep getting what looks like intelligent responses through it.”

An image of a wooden rocking horse flashed through Buck’s mind. Eyes half-closed, he listened with his inner ear. The entity felt friendly and very young, and it was aware of Buck and Desi. Another image danced in and out of his consciousness. A striped rubber ball, the paint rubbed away by use.

Buck and Dallas had talked at length about how they might use Buck’s ability in investigations. The discussion regarding the Moore house focused solely on Buck needing to learn about the research equipment and how to conduct an investigation. Dallas hadn’t told Buck what to do if he saw or felt something in this house. Buck took seriously Desi’s warning against woo-woo stuff.

The spirit felt playful and curious. Buck moved closer to the door, attempting to pinpoint the spirit’s energy with the camera. He said, barely a whisper, “I know you’re here. I see your toys.”

Coldness blanketed Buck’s skin as the ghost’s delight sparked through Buck like static electricity. A pang of pity tightened his chest. Ghosts needed to move on, release or be released from this plane of existence. They had families and loved ones on the Other Side, or so he hoped. Children’s ghosts saddened him. They were lost and too far from home.

“Bring the camera over here,” Desi said. “Let’s do some EVP work.”

“If you don’t believe in ghosts,” he said to Desi, “why do you do this?”

Desi sat on the edge of the bed. “Belief is for church.” She lifted her chin. “Either I know or I don’t know, and whatever I claim to know better be backed up by hard evidence. I’m looking for facts. Anecdotes and sightings are interesting, but they don’t mean squat as proof. You’re filming the floor.”

He jerked the camera up to level.

She pointed at the nightstand. “Set the camera over there. Focus it on the K2.”

Buck was familiar with EVPs—electronic voice phenomena—where recording equipment picked up disembodied voices the human ear could not.

A man said over the walkie-talkie, “Desi? Tony here. Check the IR camera on the third floor. See if a cord got knocked loose. It’s acting up.”

Buck didn’t envy Tony’s position in the command center van. Colorado was in the grip of a cold snap. It had been over a week since the temperature had made it above zero. He wasn’t looking forward to his turn in the command center.

Desi tested the power and line cords to the IR camera. She spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Everything is fine here. What’s it doing?”

“Cutting in and out. Never mind, it’s working now. Shees, hope it’s not the computer. How’s Buck doing? Being a good soldier?” Tony’s laugh sounded like a cackle over the unit. “Tell him if he survives a night with you, I’ll buy him a beer.”

Buck chuckled. He felt the brush of a ghostly hand against his fingers and the youthful spirit seemed to laugh, too.

“Shut up, Tony.” Desi hooked the unit on her belt. She returned to the bed and crossed her arms, looking at the digital recorder and K2 meter. “Is there anyone here who’d like to speak with us?”

Buck glimpsed a glow near Desi’s face, a ghostly outline of a boyish cheek. Buck’s mouth twisted in bemusement. Spirits couldn’t read his mind, so he had to speak to communicate. He wanted to ask the ghost why he was here, and why he would not or could not leave.

“I’m Desi and this is Buck. We aren’t here to bother you or harm you in any way. If you want to talk to us we have equipment here that can help you.”

The ghostly glow hovered over the digital recorder. A wispy hand touched it.

Buck said, “May I ask a question?” He really wanted to ask why she disliked him so much. Most people got to know him, at least a little, before declaring him scum.

She gestured at the digital recorder.

“Do you like being here?” he asked.

A smile flashed, revealing a missing front tooth. Buck sighed unhappily. This child had been very young when he died. Buck’s theory was that a parent’s grief prevented the spirits of children from passing to the Other Side.

“Do you like what the people who live here are doing to the house?”

He got a clear vision of a playroom with striped curtains, a shelf of books and the wooden rocking horse. He caught himself before asking if the child missed his toys. “Would you like it better if they fixed up a room for you?”

“Buck!” Desi hissed. Instead of glaring at him over his dumb question, she smiled.

“Did you see that?” She focused her flashlight on the K2 meter. “It lit up.” She looked around the room. “Can you make the lights go on again?” One, then two bulbs flickered with weak yellow lights. Desi clamped a hand over her mouth, but part of a giggle escaped.

The spirit glow flared, bursting with delight, showing a broad, gap-toothed smile and shining eyes. The child had found a new toy.

“Get really close to this device,” Desi said. “See if you can make it light up again.” Desi’s flashlight dimmed, then died.

The entire bank of bulbs on the K2 lit up. “Did you live in this house? Answer yes with the lights. If it’s no, leave it dark.” The K2 blazed.

Desi laughed. “Unreal! I have never been able to get it to do that.” She snapped a hard look at Buck. “Hey, is Dallas playing a joke on me? Are you helping him set me up?”

“No, ma’am. I swear. That thing is definitely picking up the…something.”

“Freaky,” she muttered. “Are you a woman who used to live here?”

Nothing.

“Are you the man who built the house?”

Nothing.

Desi pulled a disgusted face. “Figures. An anomaly.” She shook her flashlight. It was dead.

Buck asked, “Are you a boy?”

The bank of bulbs lit up.

Buck’s penlight died. He shook it and pressed the button a few times. The only light came from the DVR camera screen and from outside street lamps shining through the windows. Spirits needed energy in order to manifest and interact with the physical world. Batteries were an easy source of energy.

Buck struggled to come up with yes and no questions Desi wouldn’t consider woo-woo. They learned the child was nine years old. He had three sisters and two brothers. He was the youngest. He liked this house. He liked the people who lived here.

Desi waved at Buck to be quiet. Buck thought for somebody who scoffed at ghosts, she was certainly excited about talking to one. “Are you the one making noises?” She asked. One bulb barely flickered. “Does that mean you only make a little bit of noise?” A definite yes. “Are there others with you?”

Heaviness settled around Buck like a heavy velvet curtain. A feeling so oppressive, so…angry, it made him dizzy. The little boy’s spirit fled. Desi’s questions seemed muffled, as if sound waves had to swim through sludge to reach his ears.

Buck turned his head slowly. He spotted it in the corner by the bathroom door. A Dark Presence. His mouth filled with dust and his skin crawled. He kept his head down, not looking directly at the shadow within a shadow.

“Are you lonesome?” Desi asked.

Buck mentally begged her to shut up. If he warned her, it would notice him. It would know he could see and it would focus on him. It moved toward Desi. It flowed, absorbing the thin light as it passed the windows, slithering along the wall, powered by malevolence. They needed to get out of here. He could not let it notice him. Could not allow its dark attention to focus on him. Could not allow it to pick and probe at his mind.

The glow of the handheld camera vanished, plunging the room into darkness.

At the same time, Desi said, “You poor thing. Why don’t you come home with me?”

Chapter Two

Buck sensed the Dark Presence’s sick interest in Desi’s invitation. He stepped between it and Desi, clenched his fists and shouted, “Get out!”

It lacked face and form, but Buck felt its dark attention focus on him. Its dark energy surrounded Buck, pressed on his chest and head as if a giant vise had clamped him in its jaws. His muscles quivered.

“Get out of here! Get out! You don’t belong here.”

“I thought you weren’t scared of the dark,” Desi said. Metal clinked against metal as she shook dead batteries out of her flashlight. “Calm down. Take a deep breath.”

“I’m not talking to you,” he said. “I can’t believe you asked that thing to come home with you.” He faced it, blocking Desi from its malignant attention.

“Oh, please, it was a joke.” Her flashlight brightened. She rose from the bed. “You have to calm down. Do you need to go outside?”

It disappeared. The room felt empty, tomb-like. Buck struggled to control his breathing and racing heart. Relief weakened his entire body, and his joints ached with the sudden drop in adrenaline. Icy fear remained. It had seen him and it knew what he was. Knew he could be used.

A touch on his arm made him flinch. Desi folded her small hand around his forearm. “What in the world is wrong with you?”

Underlit by the flashlight her face was harshly shadowed and openly concerned. But she was not, Buck knew, concerned about the right thing. “Don’t you know what you just did? You’re supposed to be experienced. You’re supposed to know!”

She went rigid, fairly vibrating with anger. “I am experienced.”

He searched the shadows and listened hard with his inner ear. It felt gone. He prayed it was gone. “That was the stupidest thing you could have done. You have no idea what’s in this house!”

Footsteps clomped up the stairs, startling them both. Dallas called, “Desi? You aren’t answering the walkie-talkie. Desi? Buck?”

“Power drain,” she called in reply. She shot Buck a withering glare and left the room.

A T THE HEADQUARTERS of the Rocky Mountain Paranormal Research Team, in the windowless tech room, Desi rested her forearms on the back of Dallas Stone’s chair. Dallas and Ringo, with some help from other members, had spent the last week watching every second of footage from the IR cameras and handhelds, and listening to every audio recording from the eight hours the team had spent investigating the Moores’ house.

Desi thought the investigation had been a train wreck. After babbling about dark entities, Buck had left the house and refused to go back inside. A big bad cop, unafraid of the dark. Right. He’d spent the rest of the investigation in the command center van.

When he told Dallas the place had two ghosts, one friendly and one malevolent, Dallas had been so credulous, so accepting, Desi almost quit the team right then and there. Judging by the group e-mails shooting back and forth among the team members this week, everyone was excited about Buck’s claims. Where was the objectivity? Where was the proof? It disgusted her that Rampart teetered on the verge of turning into one of those freak shows that attributed every squeak, creak and feeling to ghosts.

She peered over Dallas’s shoulder at the computer screen. John Ringo sat on Dallas’s right. Pippin O’Malley sat in the chair to the left. All stared at the lines of spikes and waves on the screen.

“Play it again,” Pippin demanded. She pushed red curls off her forehead and she flashed a big grin at Desi.

Dallas touched the keyboard. Through the speakers Desi’s voice said, “Did you see that? It lit up.” A long pause, then “Can you make the lights go on again?” Childish laughter rang out, loud and clear. Dallas looped the recording, isolating the laughter. The laugh was so clear it could have been recorded on any playground.

“That gives me chills,” Pippin said. She scrubbed her upper arms with both hands.

Dallas looked over his shoulder at Desi. “What do you think? A ghost?”

All eyes on her, Desi straightened. After she and Buck lost every bit of battery power in the master bedroom, and even the IR camera cut out, Buck had turned on her. Her feelings still stung at his switch from nice guy to stern cop, chastising her about doing something so stupid as to invite a ghost to follow her home.

It was stupid. She’d been so caught up in the moment, so fascinated by the apparent responses on the K2 meter, the invitation had slipped out of her mouth without a single thought behind it. The lingering sting turned into fresh anger. Just because Buck Walker believed he had an in with the spirit world didn’t mean he had any right to tell her what to do.

He had no right to wreck Rampart with his woo-woo crap.

“It’s outside noise,” Desi said. “The old coal chute in the furnace room lets in outside noise and it goes straight up that heating vent to the bathroom. There could have been kids playing in the house next door. Or it might have been a television.”

“It was responding to questions through the K2,” Pippin reminded her.

“My mistake for not rechecking power outlets for power surges.”

Dallas and Ringo laughed. Dallas said, “That’s why we love ya, kid. Always standing by with a wet blanket. That laugh sounds like it’s right up against the recorder. You and Buck didn’t hear it. You heard me and Ringo through the vent. You should have heard that laugh.”

Desi’s cheeks warmed. She still had goose bumps from listening to the childish laughter on the recording. “The jury is still out. We didn’t get anything else?”

Ringo made a disgusted noise. “Dallas and I heard footsteps, but none of the recorders picked it up. We’ve got nothing else.”

“Something drained the batteries,” Dallas said. “Something used the K2 to communicate. Alec is coming down this week. We’re going to do a blessing and help the Moores take back their house.”

Desi could have groaned. Alejandro Viho, whom everybody called Alec, was a Cheyenne shaman from Wyoming. He didn’t make any claims about psychic powers, but he had enough woo-woo weirdness that Desi always felt uneasy around him. House blessings and casting out spirits were Alec’s specialty. Rampart never charged clients for investigations or interventions. The group had genuinely helped people who were disturbed by what they believed was happening in their homes or businesses. Even so, Alec’s chanting, drumming and burning sage gave Desi the willies. It seemed to her that clearing rituals crossed the line from scientific research into the occult and superstitious.

“It sure freaked out Buck,” Ringo said.

Desi went rigid. Nobody chewed her out and got away with it. Nobody . Dallas could pick somebody else to train that jackass in investigation techniques.

“The problem with the Moore house isn’t paranormal,” Desi said. “They’re being poisoned by all the mold and chemicals. The high EMFs could be messing with their heads, too. The house is toxic.”

“Can’t argue there. I already recommended they move out until the place is cleaned up.” Dallas pursed his lips as if to whistle. “That’s a great EVP, though. One of the best I’ve ever heard. Tara is still plugging away with the research. We’re hoping it corroborates the K2 session.”

Pippin looked at her wristwatch. “I have to scoot. I’ll see you guys on Thursday. Great job, Desi. That’s an incredible EVP.” She reached for the door and paused. “Hey, Desi, walk out with me. I want to ask you something.”

Desi picked up her coat and purse. Even though Pippin had been married and widowed, and had had a child, while Desi was single, they’d connected the first time they met. Desi considered the redhead one of her best friends. Something about Pippin’s somber expression now made Desi wary.

She followed Pippin outside. “What’s up?”

Pippin stopped on the sidewalk and shoved her hands in her coat pockets. “What happened between you and Buck at the Moore house?”

Desi slung her purse over her shoulder. Her cheeks ached with the cold. “What are you talking about?”

Pippin rolled her eyes and sighed. “Look, it’s one thing to thoughtfully examine evidence and look for logical explanations. Have to say, you’re the best when it comes to debunking. But now you’re angry. Why?”

“I’m not angry.”

“Bull. You haven’t said a word in the chat room or responded to any of the group e-mails all week.” She pointed at the duplex Dallas owned. He lived in one apartment, and the other served as the Rocky Mountain Paranormal Research Team’s headquarters. “Every time Buck’s name came up you looked ready to hit somebody. I know how you feel about psychics. Everybody knows how you feel. But it doesn’t explain why you’re so pissed off.”

“He just…rubs me the wrong way.” She blew a plume of white breath. “I can’t believe how everybody is acting like he’s the Second Coming! Just because he says he can see ghosts doesn’t mean he can.” She wanted to tell Pippin about Buck yelling at her and calling her stupid, but that would sound whiney and she was not a whiner. Far more important was the damage he could do to Rampart.

Pippin lowered her voice as if someone might overhear. “I’ve seen what he can do. Dallas checked him out. I can’t explain what I saw, but I know it’s real.”

It stung that Pippin knew something she didn’t. “What did he do?”

Pippin shook her head. “You’ll have to ask Dallas. It’s kind of personal.” She laid a hand on Desi’s shoulder and looked her straight in the eye. “Give Buck a chance, okay? He’s a really nice man.” She grinned and her green eyes sparkled impishly. “Pretty easy on the eyes, too. He’s single, and I don’t think he has a girlfriend.”

Desi groaned, but she smiled, too.

“If Buck is a fake, Dallas will figure it out.”

“I know,” Desi said.

“So stop being angry.” She tapped Desi’s forehead. “It gives you wrinkles.”

“Fine. I’ll be nice.” She gave her a friend a quick hug. “But if we find out Buck is running a scam on us, he won’t have to worry about Dallas. He’ll have to worry about me.”

“I WISH YOU’D LET ME go to the meeting,” Gwen Hollyhock said wistfully.

Desi looked up from the computer screen in the back room of Hollyhock Antiques and Oddities. Clutching a stack of vintage magazines, her younger sister smiled hopefully. Bangles and charm bracelets jingled with her every movement. While Desi worked on the bookkeeping, Gwen was organizing merchandise, which for her consisted of shifting piles of stuff around. It took a few seconds for Desi’s mind to switch from reconciling accounts to realizing Gwen was talking about Rampart’s monthly team meeting.

Desi had refused to tell Gwen anything about the Moore house investigation. Dallas hadn’t yet published their findings on the public section of the Rampart Web site, so Gwen hadn’t been able to hear the EVP of the child’s laughter.

“I want to hear what you found in that old house. Every time I drive past it, I get a chill,” Gwen said. “I know you found something. You wouldn’t avoid me if it turned out to be creaky timbers or squirrels in the walls.”

Desi silently cursed Dallas, knowing he’d told Gwen about the Moore house. Desi had asked him countless times to not indulge Gwen’s morbid fascination with the paranormal. She had pleaded with him to keep his mouth shut. Gwen was the reason Desi had begun researching the paranormal in the first place. A man, however, would have to be deaf, blind and in a coma to resist Gwen’s charms. Dallas Stone was none of those.

“The meetings are members only,” she said.

She thought again of her “conversation” via the K2 meter and the EVP of child’s laughter. A chill crept from the small of her back, up her spine and to her skull. Nobody knew what caused electronic voice phenomena. There were great recordings collected by researchers all over the world, but thus far only hard-core believers and nuts claimed they were actually the voices of the dead.

“Besides, we didn’t find anything. The homeowners are sick. Physically sick. They’ve torn out walls, exposing mold, and there’s dust everywhere. The electrical is a mess. They’re stripping woodwork with toxic chemicals. Dallas told them to move out until they finish the renovations. Otherwise, they could end up with permanent health problems.”

She wondered how the blessing and casting-out ceremony went today. The Moores would be impressed, no doubt.

Gwen rolled her eyes. “I bet it is haunted.”

“You think everything is haunted.”

Gwen said, “Pfft. I’m looking forward to the day when you run across something you can’t explain.”

She wandered out of the back room.

Desi returned to the spreadsheet on the computer screen. January had been a slow month, and sales barely covered the store rent. Gwen made most of her money selling “haunted” objects on her Web site. It always appalled Desi how willing people were to plunk down money to own a piece of antique jewelry or a tattered old book reputed to harbor a ghost. What bothered Desi most was Gwen’s genuine belief that her treasures were haunted. It didn’t help that since Dallas had built Gwen’s Web site and maintained it the pair of them talked frequently.

At least Dallas had convinced Gwen to stop holding séances, playing with the Ouija board or otherwise attempting to summon spirits. For that Desi was deeply grateful.

She picked up a pile of envelopes. An overdue notice caught her attention. “Gwen!” She opened the notice, which was from the electric company.

Gwen peered warily around the doorway. “What?”

Desi waved the bill. “Do I have to start writing the checks, too?”

Gwen’s cheeks reddened. “I meant to tell you. I kind of overspent at the auction. And after I made a deposit, I sort of forgot about the bill.”

Desi glanced between the balance due and the figures on the screen. “There isn’t enough to cover it.”

Gwen sidled into the room, her skirt swaying and jewelry clinking. She had the decency to look embarrassed. “Could you help a girl out? I’ll pay you back. You know I will.”

Sure you will, Desi thought with a sigh. She hadn’t taken a payment for bookkeeping services from Gwen in over four months, and she no longer bothered keeping track of how much her sister owed her for these little loans.

The sisters had inherited small fortunes from their parents and grandmother. While Desi invested carefully and lived frugally, Gwen burned through her money as if she couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. Most of Gwen’s inheritance had gone to phony psychics.

“Fine.” The bell over the front door rang. “Go sell something. I’ll take care of this mess.”

Gwen turned away then stopped short. She spun around, dazzling Desi with a smile. “Quick,” she whispered. “Get over here so I can punch you in the face!”

“What?”

Gwen held up her hands, wrists together. “I want to get arrested.”

Chuckling over her sister’s goofiness, Desi went to the doorway and peered out. A police officer studied an antique player piano. He played his long fingers over the yellowed keys, not quite touching the ivory.

“God,” Gwen breathed. “Uniforms turn me on. He’s so cute!”

Desi’s heart leapt into her throat. No! No woo-woo freaks around Gwen.

She pushed past Gwen and marched up to the cop. She cleared her throat. “What the hell are you doing here?” She noticed his badge number was 333. Only half-evil, then. What a relief.

Officer Buck Walker stepped away from the piano. The aisle between the collection of old furniture and cabinets full of glassware and collectibles was narrow. He didn’t back up, so Desi did. She planted her fists on her hips.

“Hi,” he said, flashing her a smile.

Desi felt her sister crowding her.

“Hi,” Gwen said. “May I help you? With…anything?”

Buck focused his smile over Desi’s head. A sinking sensation weighted Desi. Guys adored Gwen. Even as a little girl with blond hair and big blue eyes, the boys had loved her. She’d left a trail of broken hearts that stretched back to second grade.

The longer Buck smiled at Gwen, the worse Desi felt. It was always like this. Gwen shined; Desi turned invisible. Her golden sister’s dark little shadow.

“I’m Buck Walker,” he said.

“Oh!” Gwen stretched an elegant hand, sparkling with rings on every finger, over Desi’s shoulder. “The new guy. I’m Gwen, Desi’s little sister.” They shook hands. Gwen squeezed Desi to the side and draped a companionable arm over her shoulders.

Desi clenched her teeth. Gwen did it on purpose, emphasizing that Gwen inherited all the tall, leggy genes and Desi was a shrimp. When Buck turned his attention and those warm, brown eyes back to Desi, a little ping in her belly caught her off guard.

“It’s my day off,” Buck said. He glanced down at his uniform. “But I had to go to court this morning. Since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I’d drop in and say hi. Maybe go for some coffee?”

In the first place, Buck shouldn’t have known her sister owned this antique store. In the second place, he sounded pretty damned certain Desi would be here. Which was ridiculous. She was a freelance bookkeeper with clients all over town, and she only visited this store a few days a month. In the third place, if he thought for a moment she’d forgotten the way he’d dressed her down for extending an invitation to a ghost, he was as nutty as Gwen and the two of them deserved each other.

Gwen dropped her arm and waggled her fingers for Buck to step aside. He did so, barely giving her a glance as she sauntered past. “Go have coffee, sweetie. You’ve been working all morning without a break. You need some fresh air.”

“I don’t have time,” Desi said, hating the sullen tone in her voice. “I have another client in an hour.”

Buck’s smile faded. He continued to stare at her. A searching stare that grew in intensity, his eyes growing darker, drawing her in.

Desi looked away first. She lowered her voice. “What are you really doing here?”

He drew his head aside. “Are you mad at me?”

“Hell yes! I don’t appreciate some new guy waltzing in and yelling at me. You have no right to treat me like a dumb kid.”

“Are you talking about the K2 meter? I didn’t yell at you.”

“You did. And it was uncalled for.”

He leaned in close, but she stood her ground. His uniform didn’t intimidate her and neither did his size. “Whether you believe it or not, a Dark Presence haunts that house. Inviting it into your life was stupid.”

“So now I’m stupid?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m concerned. I need to know that thing didn’t follow you.”

It astonished her that the city of Colorado Springs gave this guy a gun. He was insane. “Take your concern and march it out of here, Officer. I have work to do.”

He straightened his broad shoulders. He wore a bulletproof vest under his uniform shirt and it made his chest look bigger. He looked beyond her and a faint frown lowered his brows. His face relaxed and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Have it your way. See you at the meeting tonight.”

She lifted a shoulder. “You don’t have to be there. It’s just shop talk.”

A tight grin turned his face from handsome to dangerously handsome. “Dallas told me meetings are mandatory if I want to stay on the team.” He raised a hand as if tipping a hat, turned around and walked away.

Desi’s cheeks burned.

“Very nice meeting you, Gwen,” he said.

“Same here, Buck. Don’t be a stranger. Come on back anytime.”

Gwen waited until the door closed behind Buck before she let loose a merry laugh. “OMG!” she exclaimed. “That’s the guy you called a pinhead jerk? Why don’t you two just get a room and, you know, duke it out.”

The burn spread across Desi’s entire face and neck. “What are you talking about?”

“You.” Gwen laughed and the music of it filled the store. “That guy really likes you. I saw the look on his face. And then you? Oh my God, Desdemona Hollyhock! If you got any hotter, you’d set the joint on fire.”

“That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard, Gwendolyn Marie Hollyhock. Buck is a jackass and I can’t stand him.”

Gwen dismissed that comment with a flip of her hand. “I might not be able to balance a checkbook, sweetie, but I can spot true love from a mile away.”

Desi spun about and marched into the back room. She’d be having tea and cookies with Casper the Friendly Ghost before she ever had a romantic thought about Buck Walker.

B UCK SLID behind the wheel and slammed the door. Who did that imperious little twit think she was, anyway? Standing there in that tight red sweater with her boobs half hanging out, acting like he’d committed a crime. Fine, she didn’t believe he saw spirits. Didn’t believe he communicated with them. He jammed a key at the ignition, then twisted and pushed on it for a few seconds before realizing it was the wrong key. He fumbled the right key around on the ring and started the Jeep.

He glared at the storefront of Hollyhock Antiques and Oddities. The windows were filled with claw-footed furniture, antique dolls and stacks of old china. He couldn’t see inside, but he could picture Desi with her fall of sleek, sable hair and those blue eyes snapping with anger. Her attitude didn’t belong in the field of paranormal research. Skepticism might be healthy, but she carried it to a ridiculous extreme.

“You’re ridiculous,” he snarled at the storefront. “You’re not that cute, either.”

He checked the street and backed out of the parking space.

At least he’d seen no sign of the Dark Presence. Sensed no malevolence surrounding her or lurking in the corners.

A chuckle rose and anger faded. Desi Hollyhock was damned cute. He shook his head, amused at himself for letting her get his goat. He had the temperament and training to stay coolheaded under any circumstances. He’d be damned if he was going to let some pint-sized girl in a sexy sweater and tight jeans get to him.

Too bad she was unaware of the friendly spirit he’d glimpsed accompanying her. Guardian spirits, he called them. Such spirits seemed to have unfinished business or they clung to living loved ones who were troubled. Desi Hollyhock didn’t appear troubled. She was just a pill.

He looked forward to the Rocky Mountain Paranormal Research Team meeting tonight. She might be a tough cookie, but he was tougher.

If she wore that red sweater, all the better for him.

Chapter Three

When Buck entered Rampart headquarters it was as if a magnet drew his eyes to Desi Hollyhock. She was seated at a battered conference table that took up much of the meeting room. She wore the red sweater, and the swell of her soft breasts seemed to glow. Desi glanced up when he walked inside, but immediately returned to her conversation with a tall, brown-haired woman.

Dallas Stone beckoned Buck. Peeling out of his coat, Buck joined him in the kitchen. Dallas shook Buck’s hand then indicated a man.

“Alec Viho, Buck Walker.”

They shook hands. As soon as Buck made contact he felt a shock of recognition. Alec looked to be in his mid-thirties with long, black hair tied back in a ponytail. His face was dark, hard-planed, with a jutting nose, prominent cheekbones and a sharply outlined jaw. Buck knew they hadn’t met, but something about Alec struck a chord.

Maybe it was the aura.

Buck had seen glimmers of color surrounding people before. It hadn’t happened often and he’d never figured out why only some people had them. Alec’s aura was green and soothing.

“Glad to you meet you,” Alec said. “Dallas says good things.”

“Grab a drink,” Dallas said. “I’m going to see if I can wrangle that herd of cats into a meeting.”

Buck pulled a soda from the fridge. He felt Alec studying him.

“So you have a direct line to the dead,” Alec said. He spoke with the same casualness as if he’d said, “So I see you drive a Jeep.”

Maybe it was the aura, or maybe the man’s utter calm, but Buck felt a sense of relief. “I guess,” Buck said.

“You’re untrained.” Alec nodded. “That’s okay. Never too late to learn.”

“Do you see ghosts?”

“Not so much.”

Buck’s head reeled. He’d never met anyone so accepting. Alec stared out the glass sliding door. Though it was only six o’clock, the backyard was dead dark. Buck could just make out the bulky shape of a gas barbecue grill and a basketball hoop mounted on a tall pole. Buck asked, “Why do you believe me?”

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

Feminine laughter caused both men to turn their heads. The female members of the team had gathered at the far end of the conference table. Buck caught Desi’s eyes. She gave him an icy look before turning back to her friends.

Alec chuckled, low and charged with amusement. “Don’t take it personal, Buck. She doesn’t like me, either.”

Buck stiffened, wondering if his feelings were that transparent or if Alec was extremely intuitive. He hoped it was the latter. “She’s a piece of work.”

“She has a good heart. A warrior’s heart. But she shoulders the problems of others instead of looking at her own.” Alec smiled. “She throws boulders on her own life path.”

Interesting man, Buck thought. “Did you get to the Moore house today?”

Alec nodded. “It was quiet when we left. All are where they belong now.”

Buck hoped the little boy had joined his loved ones on the Other Side. He really hoped the Dark Presence had gone straight to hell.

“Everybody’s here,” Dallas said. “Let’s get the show on the road.”

Buck took a chair near the head of the table and Alec sat beside him. Fifteen people crowded around the conference table. Dallas pointed to Tara Chase, Rampart’s researcher and historian.

Tara opened a folder. “I found more info about the Moore house. You’ve all seen the transcript of the question-and-answer session with Desi, Buck and the K2 meter, right? If you didn’t get the e-mail, let me know and I’ll resend it.” She glanced at her notes. “After the original owner died, his younger brother inherited the house. He had six children. Three boys and three girls. The youngest, a little boy named Jonathon, was the only child of the husband’s third wife. He died of influenza in 1919. He was nine years old.”

“Wow,” John Ringo said. “That fits exactly with what Buck and Desi picked up in the K2 session. Good job, Tara.”

She closed the folder. “I should be able to post all the material I found out about the house this week. Even without ghosts it’s a fascinating place.”

Dallas nodded. “We did a blessing at the Moores today. It went well. The Moores aren’t leaving, but they did move their bedroom downstairs to a room where nothing is torn up. They say they feel better since the investigation, and they haven’t been seeing or hearing things. I think Mr. Moore was more shaken up by the EVP than Mrs. Moore was, but he seems cool with it now. Especially since his wife isn’t waking up screaming anymore. They invited us to come back when the renovations are finished to see if we can catch anything else. Chalk one up to the good guys.”

Heads bobbed and murmurs rippled through the room. Buck caught Desi’s sideways glance. She slid her attention away as if she hadn’t been looking at him at all.

“Well, folks,” Pippin O’Malley said. The pretty redhead with big green eyes and a smattering of freckles tapped the scarred tabletop with her knuckles. “I have a case our resident psychic might be able to help with.”

All eyes turned to Buck and his spine went rigid.

“I’ve been talking to a single mom with two kids. Her cousin lives with her. The cousin says she’s a psychic and she senses unhealthy spirits in the house. Our single mom thinks her children are in danger.”

“Boot the cousin to the street,” Desi said. “Problem solved.”

“I agree,” Pippin said. “But I don’t think she’ll do that.”

“Any activity?” Dallas asked.

“Only the cousin’s claims. I feel bad for the mom. She’s barely making it financially, but she’s ready to break her lease and move her kids out.”

Buck asked, “How do you think I could help?”

Pippin smiled at Buck. “A psychic reading.”

Several people burst into laughter. Buck felt like slinking out of the meeting and never returning.

“Shut up!” Dallas rapped the table. “Come on, guys. We aren’t icy-cold scientists. Part of our mission is to help people. For God’s sake, we’re talking little kids here. Go ahead, Pip.”

Buck hated the word “reading” It sounded like something you did with a 1-900 number after asking a sucker for a credit card number.

Pippin said, “Buck isn’t like those guys on television.”

Desi snorted and slumped on her chair. “They’re all crackpots.” The hard look she tossed at Buck said Just like you .

Buck met her glare with narrowed eyes.

“I’m ninety-nine percent certain there’s nothing paranormal going on,” Pippin said. “So let’s call this a mission of mercy. We do a full investigation, then Buck can do a reading. Counteract the cousin. Who does sound like one of those guys on television, by the way.”

“A battle of the psychics?” Desi shook her head, sending her hair swinging across her shoulders. “Pip, I’m sorry, but that’s just dumb.” She looked around the room. “Doesn’t anybody else see how dangerous that could be? The cousin is an attention junkie. You all know how people like that are. The more we expose her as a fake, the harder she’ll try to prove us wrong.”

A few agreed, others disagreed, but Buck stayed silent. Desi made a good point.

Pippin said, “Speaking as a therapist and as a single mom, I think she’s looking for someone to assure her the kids are safe. Maybe a few sessions with me can help her work out the issues with her cousin. It will help if an investigation fails to catch anything.”

“It’ll make us a laughing stock,” Desi said. “Psychic crap undermines our credibility.”

Buck’s jaw tightened. “It’s not crap. The things I see and hear are real. What it is exactly and where it comes from is a mystery. But that doesn’t mean I’m a fake.” Temptation burned to tell her that right now, right in this room, several spirits were hanging around—including the entity he’d noticed near Desi at the antique store.

“There’s an explanation for hearing voices. Schizophrenia.”

“There’s an explanation for you, ” he shot back. “Close-minded.”

“I’m not watching you play ‘Oooh, I’m picking up a J name.’ John, Jack?” She pitched her voice high. “A friend of my third cousin, twice removed, is named Julie! That’s it! Oh yay! You really are psychic!” She clapped her hands in mock delight.

Buck’s jaw ached from tension. This made twice in one day Desi had poked his temper.

Dallas’s eyes blazed and his big hands clenched, making veins stand out on the backs. “Drop this for now, Pip. You can fill me in on the details later.”

The meeting resumed on a subdued note. After Dallas announced it was over, some of the team members looked as if they couldn’t escape quickly enough.

Buck pulled on his coat. He and Desi were going to have this out, one way or another.

“H EY , D ESI ,” Dallas said. “Stick around a minute.”

She watched Buck leave the house. The anxious ache in her belly worsened. She couldn’t believe how she’d acted. She couldn’t believe she’d been so nasty…so childish. Drawing a steadying breath, she faced Dallas Stone.

She stared over his head at a framed poster for the movie Swamp Thing.

Ringo kept his head down and his hands busy clearing the table and straightening chairs. Dallas crooked a finger, indicating Desi should join him in the kitchen. He rested his backside against a counter and folded his arms over his chest. “What the hell is going on between you and Buck?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, right. Whether you like it or not, I’m convinced he’s the real thing. He’s as interested in finding the truth as any other member of the team. I’m a skeptic when it comes to claims by psychics and mediums, too. You know damned good and well that I would never invite anyone to join unless I thought they were serious.”

“I have a lot going on with work, and I’m stressed out. I—I didn’t mean it.”

“The problem is,” Dallas said, “you did mean it. I’m not having any dissension on the team. We don’t need negative energy.”

Desi wished she could curl into a tiny ball and disappear. Her throat tightened. She admired and respected Dallas as much or more than any other man she knew. His disappointment in her hurt worse than if he’d slapped her across the face.

“I won’t put you and Buck on the same investigations. I expect you to ease up at the meetings, okay?”

“Okay.”

She slunk out of the duplex.

At home, she took a moment to breathe in the air of her little town house. This was her sanctuary. She turned on her computer. She had work to do for a client and she looked forward to it. Numbers were rational. Numbers never changed their character or delved into the unexplained. Numbers always made sense.

“Get off my chair, Spike,” she said.

The yellow tomcat twitched an ear. She picked him up and he rumbled and meowed in protest. “Go sleep in your basket, you big grouch. That’s my chair. I don’t know why we have to have this argument every single time I need to use the computer.”

Her cell phone rang and she glanced at the clock. Good news never came at this time of night. She answered warily, “Hello?”

“Hi, Desi. This is Buck. Sorry for calling so late.”

Fresh humiliation rolled through her. “Hi.”

“I can’t sleep unless I apologize for tonight. I’m really sorry.”

She lifted her eyebrows. She caught a movement from the corner of her eye and turned in time to see Spike hop back up on her desk chair.

“Desi?”

An apology to him caught in her throat. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“How about saying we can start over. We got off on the wrong foot. I’d like to keep working with you. I can learn a lot.”

He came across as so genuine he was hard to resist. His voice was seductive in its sincerity. She pictured him in the olive-green sweater he’d worn tonight, stretched over his shoulders and chest. As Pippin had said, he was very easy on the eyes. Probably a nice guy, too. She supposed as long as he didn’t offer to read her palm or start talking in tongues she could tolerate him.

As for the psychic abilities, well, she thought, a researcher should wait until all the data was in. “Thanks. I do act stupid sometimes. We can start over.”

A bright flash in the kitchen was followed by a loud pop. She squeaked.

“Desi?”

She laughed. “A lightbulb just blew. It startled me. But never mind. Thank you for calling, Buck. I appreciate it. It’s big of you.”

“Maybe—” He paused. “Good. So I’ll see you around.”

After she hung up, she put the cell phone on the charger. She scooped up the cat. Spike grumbled and tensed as she snuggled him. She rubbed between his ears. He acted like a little kid suffering smoochies from an overly enthusiastic auntie. “Everybody else likes him. Guess it’s only fair to wait until he actually screws up before I jump down his throat.”

Another lightbulb blew. Spike twisted. His claws hooked into her arm and she yelped, dropping him.

“Damn it!” She glared past the breakfast bar into the now-dim kitchen. She winced at the scratches where beads of blood formed on her skin. Shaking her head in disgust, she went upstairs to find the antiseptic.

U NSETTLED , B UCK FROWNED at the phone. On the one hand he was relieved to have made up with Desi. On the other hand, a most unpleasant sensation prickled his scalp. He’d felt something when she said the lightbulb blew. A brief feeling, a micro-instant of knowing. Sourness filled his mouth and settled in his guts.

Alec said the Moore house was cleansed of spirit activity. Even so…The prickling worsened, and Buck dragged in a deep breath.

Dark Presences. After his encounter with their malignancy in the past, Buck had vowed to never allow one to notice him again. Like all ghosts, Dark Presences had unfinished business and they had an eternity to finish it. Unlike most other ghosts, Dark Presences had the power to manipulate the physical world. They had the power to manipulate people.

Whether she meant it as a joke or not, Buck feared Desi had opened a doorway to something very bad.

S QUINTING AGAINST SUNLIGHT , Desi grabbed the obnoxiously ringing cell phone. If Gwen was calling at this ungodly hour of the morning, Desi was going to strangle her over the airwaves. In case it was a business call, Desi forced brightness into her tone. “Hello?”

“Hi, Desi. This is Buck. Sorry to wake you.”

It struck her that he sounded certain he’d reached her. He’d done that last night, too. She glanced at the clock. It was barely noon.

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

“I can call back later.”

“It’s okay. What can I do for you?” She pushed Spike off her foot. He gave her the stink eye then headed back to sleep. She stretched and rolled her shoulders, the headed downstairs for coffee.

“I wanted to ask you about Kirlian photography. It takes pictures of auras.”

She started to make coffee. “It’s bunk. All it takes pictures of are water molecules reacting to an electrical charge.” She scooped an extra spoonful of coffee into the filter. She hadn’t gone to bed until five this morning. “Dallas has collected a lot of research about auras and aural photography. Anything you want to know about the subject is on the Web site.” She started the coffee brewing and yawned. “Why are you asking about Kirlian photography?”

“I caught part of a TV show about psychic healers. It mentioned Kirlian and I was wondering about it.”

There were millions of Web sites on the Internet with information about aural photography. Buck didn’t need to ask her about it. She had to admit it was much nicer to wake up to Buck’s warm voice than it was to hear about her sister’s latest haunted treasure or to get a call from a panicky client with lost receipts or a bounced check.

“I’d look it up on the Internet,” he said, “but my laptop is an antique and the connection is so slow it drives me crazy.”

She opened the pantry door and studied the contents.

“Or I’d go to the library, but I’m working. Do you mind me asking questions?”

A crash made her jump and she almost dropped the phone. At the sight of the coffee can on the floor and coffee spilled everywhere her jaw dropped. “That damned cat!”

“What happened?”

“Spike just knocked a whole can of coffee on the floor. I hate that cat sometimes.” She stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the breakfast counter. Spike had disappeared. The coward. “I have to clean up this mess. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay.” He sounded uncertain. “Later.”

She set the phone on the counter and cursing the cat, began sweeping up the mess. She’d opened the can only two days ago. Ten dollars down the drain. Spike was darned lucky she’d already started a pot brewing, or he’d have to face her caffeine-deprived wrath.

By the time she had the kitchen floor cleaned, Spike still hadn’t shown up. Usually he took great pleasure in watching her clean up his messes. She began to worry that maybe the coffee can had struck him and he was hurt. She went looking for him.

Sound asleep, Spike lay curled in the same spot he’d been in when she got out of bed.

B UCK PARKED THE PATROL CAR in the space next to the little red Subaru. He got out and watched Desi crossing the parking lot. She lugged a box of paper. She frowned at his approach, but willingly allowed him to take the heavy box. She pointed a remote at the Subaru and popped open the trunk. She looked him up and down, taking in the uniform.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, and stepped aside so he could put the box in the trunk.

He pointed at Garden of the Gods Road. “This is my beat. I made my quota of speeding tickets, so thought I’d take a break and say hi.”

He sensed a shimmer of energy around Desi. The entity felt female, motherly, and he got the distinct impression she noticed him. It would be easy to make contact. Easy that is, if the entity weren’t attached to Desi Hollyhock.

“How…?” She looked around the parking lot of the office supply store. “How did you know I’d be here?”

He’d stopped worrying about the source of his knowing a long time ago. “I was cutting through the parking lot and saw you come out of the store.”

She closed the trunk, her face wary. “And you just happened to park right next to my car?”

He shrugged. He listened to a call from dispatch coming through the radio earpiece. Nobody needed him. “Your license plate number.” He tapped the side of his head. “It’s a gift.”

“A psychic gift?”

“Only if all cops are psychic. We tend to notice license plates.”

She wore a black peacoat and a cream-colored knit cap. Her cheeks were pink with cold and her eyes were bright, the bluest blue he’d ever seen. They rivaled the winter sky. She was so pretty, he could stand here and look at her all day.

“What a coincidence,” she said. “Especially since I don’t usually shop at this store. They’re having a big sale. If you need computer paper, now’s the time to get it. Can I ask you a question? What do the people you work with think about your abilities?”

“Do you admit I have abilities?”

She smiled. “No.”

“I don’t tell them.”

She looked surprised. “Huh.”

“You don’t want to know what cops really think about mediums. Every time there’s a big crime, especially a murder or missing child, 911 is flooded with calls from people who’ve had visions and dreams.”

“I see.”

“I wish I did. See, that is.” He hunched deeper into his coat against the cold. “I figured out I’m a freak a long time ago. Different. I still don’t know what it means. I still don’t know why me and not everybody. I spent a lot of years trying to hide from it.”

He sensed her uncertainty, read it in her expressive eyes.

“I’ve done some good with it, helped some people. Some bad things have happened, too. Rampart looks like a good opportunity to figure myself out. Maybe if I know what I’m doing, I can do something useful.”

“Get your own television show?”

“Ouch.”

She folded her arms. In the busy parking lot pedestrians and people in cars stared. A cop and a civilian always drew curiosity.

“Okay,” she said. “Just so we’re straight. I’ve run across a lot of so-called psychics, mediums, fortune-tellers, channelers and even a few telepaths. I consider every single one flat-out evil. They exploit the grieving, greedy and just plain dumb. I admit that Rampart has collected some really good evidence about the paranormal. I’ve seen a lot of things that can’t be explained and I’m willing to accept that there may be something out there. What I have never seen is evidence of any type, under any circumstances, that anybody can communicate with the dead.”

She was honest about her feelings. He liked that about her.

“Fair enough. So tell me, if I promise to not talk about my adventures with dead relatives, will you go out to dinner with me?”

He liked her open surprise, too.

A call came over the radio. Dispatch wanted his location. He thumbed the radio transmitter clipped to his shoulder and responded. A business reported a break-in.

“I have to go. I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

As he pulled out of the parking lot he watched her. With her head cocked and wearing a bemused smile, she watched him. She definitely liked him, even if she didn’t realize it yet. Sometimes, he thought with a chuckle, knowing things came in handy.

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