The Hidden

Brett shook his head. “No wanted posters or missing persons reports that I’ve seen.”


“This is him with a cowboy hat, sandy hair and hazel eyes,” Jane said.

There was a loud gasp from the doorway.

Diego turned to see Scarlet standing there, eyes wide, face white against the rich chestnut color of her hair.

She was staring at the computer screen.

“Scarlet?” Diego said, frowning at her reaction.

She looked at him in horror. “It’s him!”

“Who?”

“My stalker,” she said. “It’s my stalker.”

“Are you sure?” Diego asked her.

“Beyond a doubt. That’s him—that’s the man who stopped me in town, the man who’s been following me. I’m absolutely sure.”





10

Jane had risen and was watching Scarlet, who was transfixed by the computer screen.

“My God,” Scarlet breathed, and then she turned to Jane. “That’s scary, it’s so real,” she whispered. She walked closer to the computer and then, as if her knees had buckled, practically fell backward onto the sofa. “It’s crazy,” she murmured. “But it must be true, because that’s him. That’s the man who keeps trying to talk to me.”

She looked at Jane again and suddenly stood, reaching out a hand. “I’m Scarlet. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rude.”

Jane smiled, taking her hand. “Not rude at all. I’m so sorry that you were startled by my rendering.”

“Rendering,” Scarlet repeated. “Rendering, yes.” She seemed to grow even whiter. “You did this from a skull?”

“Yes.”

“He’s dead.”

“Yes.”

“Definitely dead?”

“Oh, yes. Very definitely dead,” Jane said gently.

Scarlet sank back onto the couch. Diego moved over next to her, taking her shoulders and drawing her around so that she had to look at him.

“Scarlet, are you all right?”

“Yes. I think. And you’re right. A gun won’t do me a bit of good, will it?”

“No.”

“So you know who he is?” Jane asked her.

“No. Before he started stalking me, I’d never seen him before.”

“Hey!” a man called from downstairs. “It’s Matt. Meg and I are coming up.”

“We’re in the living room,” Diego called down to him.

Once Meg and Matt arrived, everyone rushed to fill them in.

“I’m not at all surprised that’s the man you’ve been seeing,” Meg said. “He clearly has a reason for coming to you. I believe he really is trying to help you.”

“Why me?” Scarlet demanded. “He should have gone to one of you. You’re the ghost experts, not to mention you’re the FBI.”

They were silent for a long moment, and then Meg said, “There was a ghost in Miami, Miguel Gomez, and he went to my friend Lara. Brett’s fiancée. She wasn’t a Krewe member—still isn’t. She’s in public relations. He believed she could help him, maybe because she was the one who found his remains.”

“But I didn’t find any remains!” Scarlet protested.

“In one way,” Jane said carefully, “we’re no different dead than when we’re alive. We like certain people. We instinctively trust them. We gravitate toward them. Whoever this man is, he’s coming to you for a reason.”

“Great,” Scarlet said. “In that case...”

She stood up and looked around the room. “Where are you? I’m ready now. Come talk to me. Tell me whatever it is you want me to know.”

Nothing happened.

“Where is he now?” Scarlet demanded.

“Wherever he chooses to be. He doesn’t know you’ve suddenly decided you want to be friends,” Matt told her.

“I don’t want to be friends,” Scarlet protested. “I just want to know what the hell is going on.”

“He may prove to be your best friend,” Diego told her softly.

Scarlet looked at him and shook her head, clearly longing to disbelieve.

“He’ll come to you again,” Meg assured her.

“Wonderful,” Scarlet said.