She had never once been afraid. But now that Agent Samson had put the idea into her mind that she might be a target, she couldn’t escape the fear.
It didn’t matter. Tomorrow Kelsey and the Krewe would be arriving, and they would figure things out and everything would be okay.
No, it wouldn’t be okay. It would never be okay. A dying man had come into her yard looking for help, then breathed his last in the alley behind her house, and now his ghost had come to her for help.
She’d really wanted to speak with Liam earlier. But then tall, dark and annoying had wanted her to come with him so that she could introduce him to Bentley.
Meanwhile, the dead man was no doubt off retracing his own steps, trying to figure out who his killer was, trying to repeat the last day of his life, trying to comprehend how he had been taken so quickly and unaware.
And her angry resident ghosts were still AWOL.
“So, here we are,” she murmured aloud. “Me and Mr. Shoulders. And sixteen people coming far too soon so we can all go off on a ghost tour.”
Dallas was probably all the more suspicious of her after she had retraced the dying man’s route. But something had come over her when they had stepped out of Bentley’s house. She had felt the pain of the man she had found dead and come to know as a ghost. He was determined to stop Los Lobos, and that meant he needed to know the identity of his killer.
He needed to know the truth.
“Would you like dinner?”
The question startled her so badly that she jumped up from her desk, nearly knocking over a nineteenth-century vase. She steadied it as she stared at Agent Samson.
“Uh, sorry. What?” she asked.
“I’m going out for dinner. Would you care to join me?”
“I, uh, no. That’s okay,” she said awkwardly. “But...thank you.”
“You don’t eat?”
“Of course I eat.”
“Do you have previous plans?”
“No...I have a tour starting at eight.”
“It’s six.”
She didn’t know why it seemed churlish to refuse him. She wasn’t obliged to eat with him. But damn. She wasn’t even sure she entirely disliked him now.
“It’s really okay. I can fix myself something here.”
“I’m sure you can. But would you like to go out, anyway?”
No!
“I...sure.”
He smiled at that. It was, she realized, a nice smile. And while he could come on like a bull bursting into a rodeo arena, he could also be...appealing.
“I don’t want to force you if it will be a problem for you.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” she said. “I mean...there’s no one here.”
He walked through to the back. She knew he was checking the lock, and she decided that was a good thing. Then he rejoined her, and they walked to the front door together.
“So, have you always lived here?” he asked.
“Not always. Just mostly.” She locked the door behind them. “My father taught for two years up in St. Augustine. I think I was eleven or twelve. Then we lived here, and then I went up to New Orleans for college at Tulane. And then I came back.”
“Ah. Where are your folks now?”
She smiled. “They’re on a world tour.”
“Oh, yeah? Alive and well and traveling the world. That’s great.”
They had reached the street. “Yeah, it is,” she murmured, looking at him. Again she felt awkward. “Does that mean that...?”
“Yeah, mine are gone. My mom had cancer. My dad died of a heart attack a few weeks after she passed.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He nodded. “It’s been a while.”
“You’re an only child?”
“I have a great older sister living in Biloxi. She has three obnoxious but wonderful children. And my brother-in-law is a good guy, so all is well. You’re an only child, though, aren’t you?”
She smiled, lowering her head. “You can tell?”
He laughed. “No. I just had a feeling. You’ve turned the family home into a business.”
“Actually, I didn’t live here with my parents. My great-uncle left it to me. He said I had the good sense to love Key West and I should have the house.”
“Did that fit with your dreams?”
She shrugged. “History major. So, yes, I guess. More or less.”
“You’re happy, running a bed-and-breakfast and telling the same ghost stories night after night?”
She would have been offended except that he winced so quickly. “Sorry—I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“Oh? And how did you mean it?”
“Just that...there’s a lot more history out there in the world.”
She was secretly glad to see that he was actually uncomfortable. In fact, that made her smile. “I write, too. I’ve written what I hope is a good book on local ghosts and legends, with real history. I mean, a ghost isn’t very interesting if you don’t know why he—or she—is there, right?”
“True,” he agreed. “I’ll have to read it. Is it—is it published?”
She nodded, trying to hide another smile of amusement. “Yes.”
“Title?”
“Key West: Truth or Dare.”
“I look forward to reading it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I’d like to.”
“Then I’ll give you a copy.”