When he was young, his parents had purchased an old tavern west of Richmond. In a roundabout way, it had been owned by Thomas Jefferson, who’d purchased the place for a cousin and been repaid over a period of years. Matt had dreamed that he could sneak into the parlor area at night—and find Jefferson sitting by the fireplace.
He never did see Jefferson. He did, however, encounter the spirit of his cousin, Josiah Thompkin. Thompkin had regaled him with tales of famous congressmen, battles, the Underground Railroad and more. Matt’s parents had thought he spent too much time with his books and that he—like many children—had an invisible friend.
One of his great-aunts had known, however, and when his mother had spoken to him about her concerns, Genevieve had winked at him and told him that “imaginary” friends could be the best. They mirrored the soul, she’d said, and furnished the mind with information.
Great-Aunt Genevieve was long gone now, but he always remembered her with a smile. She’d made it to ninety-five, full of laughter and vigor to the end.
She’d assured him she wasn’t coming back. She’d lived a long life—and she knew the light was waiting for her.
“You and Meg have similar pasts,” Adam said, returning Matt’s mind to the present.
Had Meg grown up with imaginary friends, as well? Unlike Meg and him and the rest of the Krewe, Adam’s background was somewhat different. His son, Josh, had been granted the gift—or the curse—of precognition; he’d known what might happen. He’d known what people were thinking. He’d been ill throughout his life, and he’d died young. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason when it came to paranormal ability. Matt felt sad that there were people worldwide who kept their secret, trying not to give themselves away in case the world considered them crazy.
There was a knock at the door. Agent Murray was certainly punctual.
Matt remained by the window, staring out as Adam invited her inside. He turned, curious about the young woman. She could be no more than midtwenties, but she carried herself with a grace and poise that belied her age. Her dark hair was pulled back and she seemed even more attractive than he had realized. Today she was wearing a medium-length business skirt and matching jacket, and he couldn’t help noticing that her legs were wickedly long and well shaped. There was an unselfconsciousness about her, and he sensed that she had no idea of her own appeal.
“Meg, come in. I have a few more of our local Krewe working this. They’ll be getting onto research, credit card trails and the like. I think you and Matt should start at the source. Head over to Congressman Walker’s office. I’ve arranged that he’ll be ready for you at ten,” Adam said.
“She’s dead,” Meg told him.
“You know that?” Adam asked.
Meg nodded, glancing at Matt as if she didn’t want to speak in his presence.
“I know she must be dead, yes.”
“You saw her?” Adam asked.
Meg glanced at Matt again and lowered her head in a nod.
“It’s all right, Meg. You can speak freely. Don’t worry, Matt has friends around the city who only appear to him. I’m just so sorry that we won’t find your friend alive,” he said very softly.
She’d been crying, Matt saw. He felt a tug of sympathy.
It hurt so badly to lose people.
“You’re absolutely sure?” he heard himself say. He didn’t mean to doubt her; he sincerely hoped she’d been wrong. His voice sounded rougher than he’d intended.
She turned to him. “Agent Bosworth,” she said coldly. “I never say that someone is dead unless I believe it to be true.” He could tell he’d offended her. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing; anger helped dissipate pain.
“Until we find her, you can’t be certain,” he said, then asked, “You’ve never had a living person in desperate trouble try to reach you?”
“No,” she said, the one word like a cube of ice in the room.
“Did she speak to you, Meg?” Adam asked.
Meg hesitated. “She couldn’t quite manage to speak, but...I think she asked me to find her. And I—I believe she wants us to find her body.”
Matt felt that Meg Murray had no intention of giving his opinions any credence, but he didn’t feel the need to respond. He’d been around for a long time—as an agent and as one who knew the existence of a sixth sense. She’d learn.
The other agents arrived then.
Adam rose to make introductions. Jackson Crow had come in with Angela Hawkins, Will Chan and Katya Sokolov.
“Agent Murray will be joining this office,” Adam said. “This, as you can appreciate, is a difficult time for her. Meg, everyone’s been briefed on the situation with Lara Mayhew and the two murders. Agent Crow is your boss and I never interfere. Okay, I seldom interfere. Agent Hawkins sorts through our many requests and tries to send out the right people. Since we’re near Washington where everything seems a bit unusual, we’re quite busy here. That was a joke—or an attempt at a joke, anyway. Agent Sokolov is a medical examiner as well as an agent. She’ll visit Wong today and inspect the bodies.”
Meg solemnly shook hands with everyone. She asked Will Chan, “What’s your specialty?”