Chapter Four

 

Emma woke to more rain and a headache pounding in her skull. She’d dreamed all night, sometimes of Sam, other times of racing the labyrinth of halls in the lodge with an unknown assailant in pursuit. A shower, a divine breakfast of perfect pancakes and fluffy scrambled eggs with dishy Sam, and a few aspirin chased by strong coffee managed to calm things down to a dull roar. Not enough to shake the sensation she’d had in the dream, though.

As they toured the main lodge Emma fought the urge to keep glancing over her shoulder. Rationally she knew they were alone in the place. Sam had confirmed that when she’d discreetly asked during the morning meal. Her gut, however, told her someone watched. Someone waited. Someone wished them ill. Someone... or, something.

The rustic themed carpet runners covering most of the hardwood floors swallowed their footfalls. Dark oak panels lined the hallway walls to shoulder height, increasing the feeling of somber isolation. Unconsciously, she strayed closer to Sam. A wave of his body heat brought her back to their encounter in the library. Remembering his rugged body pressed against her own made her want more. If she didn’t stop herself from thinking this way about Sam, they’d never finish the tour. She’d be hauling him back up the ornate craftsman staircase to her suite and pushing every button she could find to unleash the wild predator that lurked just below his sturdy façade.

Emma wasn’t sure why it was they’d clicked so fast. Maybe she’d have kept it under more control, but he’d gone and touched her. Comforted her. And made her an offer. When a door like that opened, she had a hard time coming up with good reasons not to walk through. Each moment with him was another step closer to that threshold. She wanted to tell herself it was casual. It was chemistry. And at the same time, little girl Emma, lurking deep inside, wanted the fantasy that was the noble, fierce Sam Tyler to carry her off to the castle and make her his queen.

Childhood dreams of Mr. Right shouldn’t plague her now, not when she knew Mr. Right didn’t exist. Adult Emma knew better than to believe in a keeper guy. Everyone had an agenda, and time revealed them, one by one. Every hero fell from grace, every lover fell out of favor. She was too modern and too smart to fall for someone’s lame promises of forever after. Telling herself chased the child back into the shadows, but it didn’t make her feel any better. Maybe more in control, but not better.

They turned a corner and cold energy slapped away the sinfully engaging thoughts of Sam. Emma shivered.

“Keith’s lair,” said Sam, stopping at the first door. “The den.”

“The last place anyone saw his wife alive.” That explained the chill. She reached for the door knob at the same time he did, hoping to get a read on the energy, and their hands brushed.

Skin to skin, desire raced through her rocket fuel fast. Emma’s internal temperature spiked off the chart. This was worse than butterflies, this was a dragon in the blood, uncoiled and in full flight, soaring on pure flame.

The comfort he openly offered and the sensual adventures she knew he could provide were a potent lure. He wasn’t just sexy, he was safety. Strong arms to hold you and keep danger at bay, a hell to pay attitude no matter what enemy he faced, Sam was the guy you wanted on your side. He was the guy she wanted, period.

She pulled back as if stung.

Sam surprised her with a low chuckle. “It’s okay, Emma. I don’t have cooties.”

“There’s a strange energy here in the hall, and I thought I might get a read off the door knob,” she said, embarrassment heating her cheeks. “You startled me. I should have waited for you to open it.”

His clear gray eyes were inscrutable. Did he believe her?

Tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, he nodded towards the door. “Give it a shot.”

Emma took a deep breath and clasped the ornate iron knob. Instead of the expected cold, there was heat. The scent of ashes followed. She closed her eyes, willing a vision to come. None of the rooms she’d seen so far, even Keith and Jen’s bedroom, had given up any secrets. She was hopeful this one was different, but no luck. Only the smell of ashes, and that was yesterday’s news. After a minute or so she stopped. Pushing too hard often acted as a block.

“There’s heat here but I can’t get any clarity”

Sam gave it a turn and frowned. “That’s weird. It’s locked.”

“Not by you?”

His face sharpened and turned fierce. “No. Not by me.”

“The ghosts?”

“Maybe.” He rattled the knob a second time. “Maybe not. The security system blew last night. An oak out front got struck by lightning. Took out the security relay and overloaded the system. It’ll be a few days and a hell of a lot of man power hours before it’s up to par again. That means someone could access the house and grounds and we’d never know. Except for a locked door that shouldn’t be locked.”

“That’s not good.”

“I have a couple guys headed up here to do a temporary system to keep the house safe, but all the stuff out on the grounds won’t be operational for a while.”

The notion that someone was in the house snooping around was more disturbing than ghosts locking doors. It made her stay at Holloway Lodge that much more dangerous and risky. And strangely, it made her decision to stay easier. If someone was snooping around, they had a reason. Worry. Worry they’d get caught. Worry she and Sam would find critical clues. Which meant Jen’s killer was very close. “Do you have a key?”

“I keep a ring up in my room. That way I’m certain no one can get to it without going through me first.”

“So if it wasn’t a ghost locking this door, it was a human .”

“All the windows are closed. I was on the porch this morning checking for storm damage. But, yes, it’s very possible”

Sam’s look darkened by the moment. She wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to break the door down. On a whim she touched the knob again. The same heat hit her but something new followed. Desperation. Emma turned the knob and it gave way.

“So it wasn’t human,” Sam murmured. “That’s a little freaky.”

“Agreed.”

The door swung open and Emma peered into the opulent room. Modern meets the Gilded Age, she thought. More rich paneling, custom built-ins, period light fixtures, rustic antiques and elegant contemporary furnishings floating on expensive carpets. And the fireplace dominating, holding court over it all. Even the dead animal heads mounted on either side seemed to fit. Only the great room rivaled it in scale and splendor. “Wow.”

“Jen had it renovated right after they married. It was her first project in the lodge. She had restoration experts in and an army of designers.” Sam stepped into the hushed silence and looked around. “She had an eye for beauty.”

Not just an eye, Emma thought, as she followed behind Sam. Beauty ran in her blood. Over the mantle a portrait stretched almost to the ceiling. Jennifer Vaughn, the subject of the piece, stared serenely over her kingdom. She was a fairy queen, delicate as gossamer and spun sugar, with a timeless beauty born of an ancient enchantment. “I see why Keith was obsessed with his wife.”

“Everyone she pulled into her orbit became obsessed to one degree or another.”

Emma detected a sour note in his voice. “You didn’t like her.”

He shrugged and stared back at her picture, silent for a long moment. “Jen was a burning fire in life. She consumed Keith. She was nice enough. But she took a lot of energy to keep occupied. She had trouble sitting still, just being. Like quiet was the enemy. The cocaine habit made it worse.”

“How was their marriage?”

“Solid. Keith worshipped her. She loved him like crazy.”

She left him standing pensive, while she moved around the masculine room. It was hard to get a vibe under the scrutiny of the portrait. With her back turned, Jen’s sharp green eyes bored a hole through her. There was something in here, but she’d need more time and study. Before she could relay that to Sam, his cell rang.

“Tyler here.”

Perching against the expansive desk, Emma watched Sam. The dark look returned.

“Mike, now is not a good time. What’s the issue with sticking to the original plan?”

Mike Foyle, Keith’s lawyer, Emma surmised.

Sam paused. “Fine. I get it. You want this solved like the rest of us.”

Another pause, then Sam said, “No, not here. We’ll do the first one where we planned. Later.”

He ended the call and put away the Blackberry. “Change of plans.”

Despite the unsettled atmosphere, she tingled when he said her name. “What’s up?”

“Mike can’t wait. He called to move the interview time up.”

Interesting. “When are we meeting him?”

“Half an hour, at Grimm’s Cafe in town. We won’t have as much time as I wanted. We’re meeting Stan Meyer today too. He’s the mayor now, but was the sheriff when Jen died.”

“Why the rush?”

“Says he wants this thing over and done. After the murder, he hit the bottle pretty hard. His law practice fell apart, along with his marriage. He got into recovery, and made do for a while selling real estate and doing the odd will or estate planning, but it’s been lean times. When I first pitched this to him he went wild. Thought it was his ticket back to a normal life. Now he’s itching to get things back in place, I guess.”

“He believes you’ll have luck figuring it out with a psychic, where everyone else failed? He sounds gullible.”

“I think he’s desperate. What I’d like to know is why. Its way more than this recovery thing he has going. Mike’s always been an operator.”

There it was again. That word. Desperate. “I’d like to know why myself.”

Before they left, Emma threw a glance back at Jen. Her serene smile looked like a scowl from this angle. She faced Sam, and before she could stop herself, words tumbled out of her mouth. “I know you’ve brought me in because I have a mixed bag of psychic skills. But is that the real reason I’m here?”

“You’re here because Keith thought you’d be the one to figure this out. And I agree.”

He turned and vanished into the hall. She had no choice but to follow. As far as answers went, it wasn’t much.

Would it be that big a deal if he wanted her more for her talent at smoking out con artists than for her more esoteric talents? She shouldn’t care, she should be beyond those old fears and insecurities. But for some reason it was important. Too important.

She needed it not to matter. She needed Sam not to matter. Emma had to prove to herself that the attraction was casual, that it held no power over her. Taking him up on his invite for some fun seemed nuts in the midst of all the horror of the lodge, yet it was exactly what she needed to shake the eerie vibe and prove that Sam Tyler was nothing more than a passing fancy.

 

~ * * * ~

 

Mike Foyle was a man who liked an audience. He played to her and Sam like a stage actor, jumping wide gaps with vigorous emotional energy. Emma knew far too many people like him, attention seekers who had to be the center of everything, twenty-four-seven. The behavior hid an internal neediness. She tuned into him the way she did the clients she assessed for her boss Eric. What was beneath the mask and the careful script, that’s what counted and that’s what she wanted to reach.

She’d sensed an undercurrent of desperation early on and she worked with that to see where it led while they talked. He hadn’t lied yet, not baldly enough for it to stand out, but he might just be a damn fine liar too. With all senses, psychic and otherwise, on alert, she locked onto her target as he answered questions and recounted his role in that fateful night.

“We were drinking brandy, me and the wife, Wes and Audrey. Not Jen. She watched her weight, so she had the usual fancy mineral water. Pellegrino. I remember because I spilled that stupid green bottle by accident and she was pissed. Keith was tied up on a business call a few minutes after he arrived. He didn’t get a chance to have anything.”

He closed his eyes in dramatic pause. When he opened them again, he stared at a point on the wall behind Emma. Like a man looking into a mirror, and not liking what he saw. “I ask myself every night. Why did I have to drink so much? Why did Lora? We should have stopped with the first bottle. When Keith left, we should have called it a night.”

“There was more than one bottle consumed?” Sam appeared surprised by the info. “The police report didn’t mention anything about more than one bottle.”

Mike spread his fingers wide, held his fleshy palms out in a gesture of helplessness. Five years ago based on pictures he’d been well built, but booze and depression had him running to fat. “No one asked me. It was pretty obvious how drunk we were. One bottle of brandy wouldn’t get four adults that wasted. Sheriff Meyer shoved my head in the toilet bowl to wake me up. Bet that wasn’t in the police report either.”

No, it wasn’t. Emma turned to Sam and gave him a questioning look.

“Jake was an unconventional sheriff,” he said in explanation. “Sort of a two fisted kind of guy. Mayor’s a better fit.”

“I thought he would kill me that night.” Mike expelled a great breath, sucked down more coffee, then laughed. It was an odd sound coming from a man his size. Squeaky, like a mouse. “I’d have been better if he had done me in. I lost everything that mattered. Coming back from that is an everyday struggle.”

“You were drinking brandy,” Sam refocused the topic. Smooth, Emma thought. The sentiment behind Mike’s statement was true, but his body language communicated a case of nerves. “Then what?”

“Keith had to leave for Lake Placid. Jen didn’t want him to go. They argued, but Keith left anyway. We finished the first bottle. Jen kept going to the den for more coke. Then it gets fuzzy.”

The truth in his words had not changed, but the level of desperation had. Emma decided to tighten things up. She wasn’t getting anything useful, not the way she’d tuned in at the lodge. “May I hold something of yours while we talk, Mike? Maybe your keys, or a watch?”

He slipped a little, his eyes widening and revealing fear.“Why?”

Sam jumped in. “Emma picks up vibes from all kinds of things. Maybe she’ll get some clarity.”

For a few seconds no one at the table moved. Mike had no choice but to take up the challenge, however, his hesitation spoke volumes to Emma. He had something to hide. Something he wanted to keep hidden.

“Yeah, sure,” he said cautiously. He pulled his keys from his pocket and slid them half way across the table. It was obvious he didn’t want to risk personal contact.

Emma palmed the keys. “Thanks.”

The contact gave her nothing new immediately, but holding them put Mike on edge. His voice got tight and he kept fidgeting. Sam didn’t give any sign that he noticed the change. He remained relaxed, acting like this was more a chat between old friends than an interrogation.

“I know it was tough on you and Lora afterwards.”

Mike was quick to nod. “You don’t get over something like that, Sam. She expected me to forget it. When I couldn’t, she divorced me, found God and ran off to Africa to be a missionary. Like it would fix what happened.”

“You stayed and faced things,” Sam said soothingly.

“Damn right I did. I cowboy’d up.”

“You ever hear from her?”

“She solicits donations from time to time.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m sorry, man, really. No one deserves that.”

“Damn straight.”

When a moment of silence had passed and Mike had calmed, Sam picked up again. “That night you guys were partying, did Wes and Audrey stay until you passed out?”

“I told you, it gets fuzzy.”

“Try taking me through it up to where it goes blank. Any detail you remember no matter how small may be critical.”

“It was so long ago.”

“I’m asking you as a friend, Mike. I really need your help.”

Emma loved watching Sam work. If he’d played for the other team, he’d have given Dad a run for the money in the game of the con.

Mike rubbed his jaw. Blinked a few times. Started running through the events list style, occasionally looking to Sam as he spoke.

“We were all getting bored and drunk. Lora and Jen decided to watch a movie. Wes left to make a call to a patient. He came back. Jen left to get some more coke. She came back. Did that a few times. We started on the second bottle of brandy. We put on a chick flick. I don’t remember the specifics after that, Sam. I’m sorry. The next thing I recall is Jake Meyer screaming at me while I gagged on toilet water. Everything in between is a black hole.”

“I can’t confirm times,” he added. “I know those things happened, I think they happened in that order, but I was really wasted. Didn’t they find Wes and Audrey asleep upstairs? They must have gone up at some point. You should ask Lou Preston. He was a deputy back then and the first cop to respond when the fire call went out.”

“Lou’s on my list.” Sam then took Mike through variations on the theme three times, but each line of questioning resulted in the same dead end. After they got into the second brandy bottle, Mike’s memory went blank. Not fuzzy, not confused, but dark and empty blank. Like someone flipped the off switch to a light, and didn’t turn it back on until much later that night. He’d said as much to Sam, and Emma agreed from what she picked up psychically.

She’d dealt with liars before, and she’d dealt with people who had memory gaps while on altered substances. The liars were usually obvious from body language or poorly constructed stories. Those with memory gaps invariably had memories she was able to pick up on. None had evidenced the complete lack of conscious activity as Mike. Spooky.

While the men continued, Emma concentrated on the keys and any ambient sensations. The buzz of activity in the cozy cafe provided a nice backdrop for zoning out. She tried a variety of techniques, but each one was a bust. For what it was worth, Mike had answered Sam’s questions with information he believed to be truthful. He could have left something out, however, and excluding wasn’t so much lying as it was evasion. But in his case, was that simple memory absence? More questions, too little answers.

She passed back the keys and Mike smiled toothily. “Hope you didn’t get the pin code for my bank account. Not that there’s much left. Vacation property and new construction aren’t selling so good right now.”

Emma smiled in return, the gesture just as phony. “Would you be open to coming to the lodge?” She went out on a limb with the question. Sam had told her he’d carefully scheduled interviews, outside and inside the lodge, and she hated to disrupt his schedule. Only everything about this sad tale was too scripted. Too rehearsed and rehashed. She decided it was time to shake and stir and see what rose to the surface. “I’d like to walk through things. The way Jen did. Maybe even hold a séance.”

Mike hid his shock well. Sam, not so much.

“Anytime,” the former lawyer said. “How are things going? Any new leads from the spirit world.”

Sam responded before she had a chance. “We’ve turned over a few new stones. It’s promising. Keith wasn’t crazy.”

He fell right into line with her ploy to mix up the game, which shocked her to no end. Super cop was quick on the draw. Good thing she had a decent poker face. Mike fixed her with a penetrating stare, revealing the man he used to be prior to hitting rock bottom, or maybe the man he still was, but kept hidden behind a façade.

“New stones? That’s good news. What kind of new stones?”

“Leads mostly,” Sam countered.

Mike turned on Sam. Tension reached a breaking point. “Tell me about them. Maybe it will jog a memory.”

“Once I have more information, I’ll share.” Sam’s firm response brooked no argument. “I plan to resolve this case once and for all. I don’t want to risk things by making mistakes early on.”

Mike nodded jerkily. The fight went out of him. “You always were the clever one out of our group. If anyone can figure it out, it’s you, Sam.” He stood, and nodded at Emma. “Nice to meet you Emma. I’m looking forward to getting together again.”

Sam stayed silent until he’d left. “Bad case of the nerves.”

“He’s hiding something.”

“You sure that’s not his inner lawyer throwing you off the scent?”

“I’m not picking up anything on the psychic wavelength, but my other skill set tells me he knows more. Unfortunately, it may not be relevant to Jen’s death, but he definitely has information he’s keeping to himself. I’d like to know is what the fear is about. Is he afraid of what he knows, or afraid of us finding out what he knows?”

“I was wondering the same thing myself. You’d have made a great cop.”

“It was bad enough me going legit. My dad would have dropped dead on the spot if I joined up with the enemy.”

“You still stay in contact with your family?”

“They’re my family. Dad relocated to Buenos Aires after my mother died, and gradually, the rest of the clan has migrated. We’re not super close, but we’re still close.”

She couldn’t read his look. The scrutiny made her uncomfortable. She was suddenly very aware of the wide chasm of differences between them. Sam, with the sterling past, present and future, was a world away from Emma with the murky past, murky present, and uncertain future. She swallowed the insecurity. She wasn’t Polly Pure, never would be, so screw Sam if that was an issue. “What’s next?”

“We visit the mayor, Jake Meyer. He’s picky about details and ran the investigation letter of the law. Right down to pulling in the state guys to process the scene.”

“Mayor Meyer?” The absurd name combination lifted her spirits and she smiled. “Let me guess, a descendant of the founding Meyer?”

“There’s descended Meyers everywhere in these parts. All straight talking, solid citizens as upright, and uptight as they come. Most are in the building trades but every so often one gets drafted into public service. As to Jake, don’t tease him. He’s liable to do something crazy. Before he was sheriff, he ran a division of the family construction company. If folks dumped stuff in his site trash bins, he’d go through the bags, find mail, and track them down. Then turn up at their house and show them the error of their ways.”

“That doesn’t sound uptight, that sounds vengeful and dangerous.”

“Semantics. Jake’s a take charge kind of guy.”

“And Meyerville made him Sheriff?”

“It’s a weird town.”

“I guess being the trash police gave him a taste for the life.”

Sam laughed deeply. Emma found it irresistibly sexy. “He was also an MP in the army. He’s big on rules, and sticking to them, no matter what his line of work. At least as mayor, he doesn’t carry a gun anymore.”

“You don’t think he was involved in any way?”

“Jake? Hell no. He’s so by the book he makes me look like a stone cold criminal. Besides, he doesn’t like to operate outside of business hours. If he was going to kill someone, it would happen Monday through Friday, between the hours of seven a.m. and three thirty p.m., and not during his half hour lunch.” Sam grinned back at her. “He probably shoved Mike’s head in the toilet that night more because he was pissed he had to get out of bed and deal with trouble, than he thought the guy had something to do with Jen’s death.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior.” The easy conversation and the warm atmosphere relaxed her. Being away from the oppressive malice of the lodge may have dimmed her psychic senses but it went a long way in restoring her energy levels and peace of mind. Sam’s company wasn’t hurting things either. She liked the lazy way he sprawled in the seat, owning the space around him. He had a pure and elemental maleness about him that was impossible to ignore. Or resist.

When she wasn’t fighting her attraction to him, or telling herself how wrong he was for her, it was very easy to fall into a comfortable place with him. In a way, he was like an old friend, except she’d known him less than a week, and other than Eric, she wasn’t sure she had anyone in her life ever who qualified as ‘an old friend.’

When had she become this sad? Had so much life slipped by her while she was working? After she finished with the Lodge and writing her book, she’d need to take a vacation and find a little more of a life. Maybe having such narrow focus explained why Sam loomed so large on her radar. Maybe it was time to change. It occurred to her then what a nice change Sam could make for her. Emma gathered her wayward thoughts close and shoved them away for later.

“Why are we seeing him? Is there something in particular you want me to focus on while we meet?”

“I can look at notes until the end of time, but they’re all from official interviews and reports. What we’re doing is more conversational. People reveal things in conversation. Inconsistencies. Things they forgot under the pressure of the police interview, or noticed but didn’t include in a report because it didn’t seem important at the time. Like the second bottle of brandy.”

“How do you think that will be important?”

“I don’t know. But it stands out to me so I’m going to follow it where it leads. Drunks aren’t noted for neatness. They drank two bottles of brandy. Why was only one found? And what happened to Jen’s Pellegrino bottle? If they were too wasted to notice someone get killed, then they were certainly too wasted to selectively clean the crime scene after the fact. Jake can act as a way for us to fact check. Who knows, maybe there’s something he tucked away in that keg head of his that will fall out now and help the case.”

“Wouldn’t the first cop on the scene be a better place to start for validation?”

“Lou Preston, deputy at the time, is sheriff now, and was the first cop to respond. We’ll see him next. He’s been playing possum with me and avoiding my calls. Jake will take care of that today. He owes me a few favors and I called one in about interviewing Lew.”

“I can’t even imagine what kind of favor a guy like Jake Meyer owes you.” Emma gave Sam an assessing look. “You played right along with that line about the séance. Without missing a beat or giving up a tell. You’d have made a good con.”

“What do you call going undercover for as many years as I did? No different from a long con, except I was on the right side of the law.”

That was an interesting take on things. Emma didn’t fail to notice the note of derision that crept into his velvet smooth voice. “Do you have any regrets about what you did?”

“No. But I was surprised by the aftermath.”

The pain that flashed briefly in his eyes as he spoke told her volumes that his laconic reply didn’t. Emma knew all too well what happened when a con was exposed. She’d lived a life of retreat in the wake of the disappointment and recrimination. For Sam, though, she suspected it was a one-time hit he’d taken, and he lacked the perspective to put it in place. The chasm she’d felt earlier narrowed, bridged by the unanticipated connection.

Emma took a risk and opened up, hoping to give Sam the benefit of her dubious experience. “We always moved quick after my parents finished running a con. But sometimes, not quick enough. The mark, you expect them to be angry and act out. You betrayed trust and worked them. What I learned over time, is that once people around you know you work scams, even if they’re for the right reason, they start to think ‘when am I next’, or ‘have I been played too?’. They think it’s only a matter of time before you turn on them, so they turn on you. Its self preservation. A part of human instinct. You learn not to take it personal.”

“Cops don’t like rats.”

“You didn’t do it for them, you did it for justice. That counts for more.”

“I hope you’re right.” His expression iced over. The tenuous connection between them broke. He pushed his chair back and stood. “Let’s get moving. We miss our appointment with Jake, he’ll come looking for us and we don’t want that brand of trouble.”

 

~ * * * ~

 

The meeting with Jake Meyer, the former sheriff, was a far cry from the encounter with Mike Foyle. Emma left feeling as though she’d been interrogated by the Feds, complete with glaring lights and rubber hoses. Except all the guy did was welcome them in, sit across a desk from them while they talked, make two calls, and then dismiss them. He was neither affable nor nasty, but he was direct, intense, and more than a little scary. Definitely not a man you wanted to cross.

Jake warned them both in no uncertain terms that any new evidence, the admissible-in-court kind or otherwise should be relayed to him immediately. If not, there’d be hell to pay, and he would show to collect the tab. He also denied a second brandy bottle, and admitted to waking Mike in an unconventional manner. Emma got a solid vibe from the man who looked like he stepped out of an ad for Soldier of Fortune magazine. She found no vacillation in his manner. No reason to suspect him of anything other than being a straight arrow with a dangerous streak.

Next, they attempted a meeting with Lou Preston, the current sheriff. A few minutes into it, though, he was called away to a fatal crash on the edge of town. Lou had all the markings of a man with ulterior motives and Emma knew a con artist when she saw one. She hoped the second shot at interview came soon because she knew she’d find gold.

Afterwards, they drove into Lake Placid for lunch at Lisa G’s, followed up by a meet with the crime scene technicians. They confirmed Jake Meyer’s statements and backed up the police report info. The techs also claimed only one brandy bottle, refuting Mike’s confused recollection of events. They debated the information as they drove back but gained no more understanding. Emma had a nagging feeling she was missing something, a key piece of the puzzle, but she failed to lock on what it was that seemed out of place.

By the time they returned to Holloway Lodge night had set in, along with another bout of driving rain. Sam heated up homemade lasagna, and they ate it in the library while pouring over Keith’s collection of journals. Emma was too exhausted to do any tarot readings so she tabled them for the next day, when they planned to tour the grounds. By one a.m., she’d had her fill.

“I don’t understand something.” She rubbed her bleary eyes and shut the last journal. “Why has every psychic and medium and ghost hunter failed, and why are we succeeding?”

Sam gave it a moment’s consideration. “Because we’re that damn good?”

“Not that I doubt my skills, but what I’m getting is nothing short of extraordinary. Some of the people Keith brought in are industry heavies. There’s no way I can compete with them in terms of spirit manifestation or contact, yet I come here, and I’m the super psychic.”

“Is that a problem?”

Emma stood and stretched. Around them both were the leather covered journals, remains of what amounted to the fruitless five-year effort of a dead man. “I’ve clicked on cases before, but something this strong makes me wonder why.”

“Keith researched you and Eric heavily. For some reason he thought you were the one to break the stalemate.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned this information. Now she took a new spin. “Did he tell you why?”

“No. He was actively dying from the car crash injuries when he told me. There wasn’t much time for long explanations.”

“Prior to me, no living person had any luck piercing the veil. Not even Eric, my boss. And he’s as good as you get in this business.” Emma paced, letting the information sink in. “Other than Eric, did you bring anyone in after Keith died?”

“I worked on piecing things together on my own. Other than meeting Eric I’ve had no other psychics out here. Where are you going with this, Emma?”

“For the first five years, the spirit or spirits of the dead can’t break through. In any way shape or form. That implies something held them back. Keith is the force trying in life to reach the dead, who are almost held prisoner by something.” She leaned against the wide library table as she strung together her thoughts out loud. “Keith finds someone he thinks can do the trick, for an unknown reason, and then he dies before he can enlist them. Several months pass, and you bring that person in. They connect instantly with what was essentially a psychic dead zone.”

Instead of the excitement she expected from him, Sam closed down.

“What are you driving at?” he asked suspiciously.

For a cop who was normally quick, Sam wasn’t catching on. “Keith is the change factor. He’s here, Sam. There’s no other explanation for why I can tap into the energy with such ease. I don’t get this boost when I’m off the grounds of the lodge. He took his force of will and his passion to the other side, and broke a hole through the veil.”

When he remained silent, it was her turn at suspicion. “You aren’t surprised?”

He shrugged noncommittally. “I didn’t think he was behind the sudden amp up in activity, or your strong connection. But I had a feeling he was hanging around.”

She shouldn’t be angry. She rapidly reviewed what he’d told her last night when she asked about Keith haunting the lodge. Technically he wasn’t lying to her, but he’d been holding out. “Were you planning to share this with me anytime?”

“If it became important, yes.” His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. A man ready for a fight. A man afraid.

“Anything else you’ve been holding back? If there is, now’s a good time to spill.”

They faced off in stony silence, each waiting for the other to break. Emma didn’t understand what the big deal was, but for some reason Sam didn’t want to admit to knowing Keith was around. He admitted knowing the lodge was haunted. Did seeing or knowing a dead friend’s spirit was close at hand freak him out too much? The idea was silly to her, but to a man as grounded in day to day reality as Sam, maybe it was a huge problem. One more major difference between them.

“Emma, listen,” Sam started to say, but the lights flickered and then cut out completely, plunging them into black. “Give it a sec, it should come back on.”

As predicted the electricity fired up, but the force blew the bulbs in two of the wall sconces and the overhead ceiling fan. At the same time, Sam’s Blackberry rang. “Hold on a sec. It’s the house alarm. I had the guys set up a relay today while we were out.”

He glanced at the device. “Damn thing overloaded and shut down with the power surge. I was afraid of that. The electrician told me there were random power draws and shorts, as well as atypical power surges. He thinks the whole lodge needs a rewire. I should have had them set up a separate line and power source, but I wanted to make sure we’d have something on line tonight.”

Emma was too tired to fight. Too frazzled to worry about the burned out alarm. Storms, spirits, Sam, she’d had her fill. A good night’s sleep would improve everything. “I’m going to bed,” she announced and made for the door.

“Wait.” Sam grabbed her arm when she passed. “You’re right. I should have come clean.”

His firm touch sparked up the slow burn that had been building all day and night in his presence. Her senses went wild. She hated being close to him this way. Emma put her hand on his broad chest, stifled the urge to let it roam, and instead pushed back lightly. “You brought me here. You might want to trust me. I’m not a con anymore.”

Sam didn’t release her. He grabbed her other arm and pulled her close. Slanted a piercing gaze at her. Made her want to be held forever, even though she was spitting mad at the same time. “I’m trying to do the right thing. It’s hard when you don’t know what that is. I’m in unfamiliar territory.”

The moment spun out between them as tension and desire escalated. Her heart hammered against her rib cage. He must have heard it. Did he see what he was doing to her? Did he care? She drew an unsteady breath and locked eyes with him. “We’re both out of our element.”

The smile he flashed was boyish and at odds with the predator lurking in his eyes. “Do you forgive me?”

“Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“Prove it. Tell me what’s really going on.” That would do the trick. If he told her, then he was worth her time and bother. If he held back, or worse, lied, she’d do the job she came to do, but other than that, write him off. She didn’t have time for players. “Tell me what you’re holding back.”

“Keith isn’t haunting the lodge, Emma.” Sam’s wide chest rose enticingly as he took a deep breath. “He’s haunting me.