She rubbed her temple with the tip of her finger, then pressed hard against her closed lids. She opened her eyes to find Christian still watching her. “What do you think happened?”
He crouched in front of her and ran a finger down her cheek. She shivered, his touch cool against her heated skin. Then his thumb brushed over her lower lip and she felt it as a caress low down in her belly. He was so close. If she leaned forward just a little bit…
He straightened and backed a step away. “What do you know of the supernatural?”
The question caught her off balance. “You mean, ghosties and ghoolies and…” She frowned. “I seriously hope you’re not trying to tell me my aunt was a ghost.”
“Actually no, I don’t think your aunt was a ghost. You could touch her couldn’t you? She ate and drank like a normal person?”
“Yes, she ate like a normal person. Because, you know what? She was a normal person.” Albeit a rather strange one, but Tara pushed that thought to the back of her mind.
“Tara, your aunt was far from normal.” He gestured to the photographs. “However much you dislike the idea, you have to acknowledge that something strange was going on.”
Tara forced herself to calm down. “Okay, tell me what you think happened.”
“The body of your aunt was never buried.”
“Yes it was, I was there at the funeral.”
He sighed. “I mean twenty years ago.”
She felt a spark of hope. “Well obviously it wasn’t buried, because she wasn’t dead. They made a mistake.”
“There was no mistake. I’ve seen the death certificate and the coroner’s report—she was dead twenty years ago. The body disappeared before it could be buried. There are reports, they’re all in the file.”
“You’re telling me I was brought up by a dead person. That Aunt Kathy was some sort of zombie?” She could hear her voice rising.
“Not a zombie, no.”
“Well, thank goodness for that.”
“There are other ways to reanimate a corpse.”
Tara bolted from her chair. “I am not listening to this.”
“You have to. The woman who brought you up has been dead for over twenty years.”
She stared into his face, sure she must have heard him wrong, but no, he seemed serious. Suddenly she was furious. She took a step toward him and poked him in the chest. It was like stubbing her finger on a lump of rock and she winced. “You are so not funny.”
She blamed her cat for this. Trust Smokey to pick the one nutcase private investigator in the whole of London. “And by the way,” she added. “You’re fired!”
She grabbed her purse and stormed away. She’d almost reached the door when he spoke again.
“Tara—”
She whirled.
Somehow, he was right behind her and she almost slammed into him. She put up her arms to ward him off and her palms flattened against his chest. He leaned forward and kissed her.
She stood there, hands splayed against his chest, while he touched her only with his lips. The kiss was slow, erotic. He tasted her with his tongue, and she let him do whatever he wished. It was over far too soon, and he stepped back.
In a daze, she opened the door and was just about to step through when he called her again. She stopped and turned.
He handed her the file, his expression sympathetic. “When you’ve read this, calmed down, and are willing to listen, come back.”
“When hell freezes over.”
She tried to calm herself as she rode down in the elevator, but bitter disappointment clogged her throat. She’d been so hopeful a private investigator would find a nice logical explanation for what had happened in her past, why her aunt had kept them isolated for so many years. Instead, she’d hired a madman, who talked about dead people as though they had the power to walk and talk and eat. A madman who’d had the nerve to kiss her. She could still feel that kiss against her lips—she’d never imagined a kiss could feel like that.
Graham regarded her as she stepped up to the reception desk, his eyes widening as he took in the red folder she clutched. Did he know what was in there? Had they laughed as they put it together?
“Would you like another appointment?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I won’t be coming back, and you can return this to your madman of a boss.” She slapped the file on the desk and headed for the door.
“Tara.”
“What?”
“You could be in danger.”
She stalked from the building. Outside, she gazed about for a moment then headed for the alley opposite—the quickest way to the train station. She hesitated at the entrance; the alley was narrow, the streetlights penetrating only a few feet, and beyond that, utter darkness.
Of course she wasn’t in danger. Of course she hadn’t been brought up by a dead woman. Of course there wasn’t something really scary waiting for her down this alley.
And if there was, all she could say was—it had better watch out.
Chapter Four
“Well that went well,” Christian murmured.