“No, I think we’re ready to get hot and sweaty again now.”
She laughed and curled into his arms as he kissed her. And she wished the night could go on forever.
Eventually, they both slept.
When Olivia woke the next morning, she saw that his eyes were still closed. She started to get out of bed, trying not to disturb him. But she saw him smile and realized he’d probably wake at the slightest sound.
“You look cute, cuddled there,” she told him.
“Cute?” he asked indignantly.
“I’m going to go put coffee on.”
Sliding from bed, she slipped into her robe. She was surprised that Sammy wasn’t sleeping at his usual post in the hallway.
“Sammy?” she called. His food and water bowl were in the kitchen, and she assumed he’d gotten tired of waiting for her.
Still, she walked cautiously down the stairs.
When she reached the landing, she paused, gasping.
There was Sammy. He was curled at the foot of the sofa, lying near the first of the three men in her parlor—Marcus Danby, who sat at one end.
General Rufus Cunningham sat in the wing-back chair, straight and dignified as ever in his uniform, his cavalry hat in his lap.
Aaron Bentley was at the other end of the sofa.
When he saw her, he rose.
“I did not kill Marcus!” he said, his words trembling with passion. “And I most certainly did not idiotically kill myself!”
18
Dustin practically flew out of bed, wrapping himself in the sheet and grabbing his Glock when he heard the voices downstairs. He raced to the first-floor landing—and then saw the strange trio in the house.
“Agent Blake,” Aaron said, “nice of you to join us. I was just explaining to Olivia that, no, I didn’t kill myself. Nor did I kill Marcus.”
Dustin looked at Olivia. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered.
He headed back upstairs, still shaking. The sound of the voices in the house had scared the hell out of him; he was still afraid Olivia was at risk. He couldn’t allow himself to get comfortable right now, he reminded himself harshly.
This time, the house was filled with ghosts—with the dead. Next time, it just might be the living.
The lethal living.
He had to move when she moved, hell, breathe when she breathed. And if he wasn’t with her—in the same space—another agent had to be.
Dressed, he came back downstairs.
He was truly astonished to see the Civil War general—with the two very recent ghosts.
Aaron was wearing a handsome suit—and his cowboy boots. Dustin figured Sandra Cheever had brought the clothing to the funeral director.
“We’re here to help,” Marcus told him. “The general’s been teaching me. With his help, I made it all the way to the mortuary. I was very proud of myself. Aaron was still reeling at the fact of his death. We were able to make him see more than himself in the present—that is, fried.”
Aaron winced. “Marcus—”
“Gentlemen, you are beyond all earthly cares now, other than to help those who remain,” the general said.
“So who the hell did it?” Dustin asked. “And don’t tell me you don’t know.”
Aaron stared back at him. “I don’t know,” he said.
Dustin turned to Olivia and groaned.
“You have to know something,” he insisted.
“Tell him what you do know—what you believe, son,” the general said. “You people were good for these hills, and now... I cannot bear this kind of treachery. Where has honor gone?” he declaimed.
Aaron looked from the general back to Dustin. “I’m dead—and I still can’t bear the pain of it. And I’m being badgered by the past.” He glanced significantly at Cunningham.
“Honor should not be in the past, sir!” the general said.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” Aaron said. “I’m just...”
The ghost of Aaron Bentley faded. “He’s really not very good at being dead yet,” Marcus told them. “I think, perhaps, I was better adapted.... In my misspent youth, I came close to dying many times.” He straightened. “We did learn something from Aaron—something that may be important, and something you would probably have discovered in your questioning. Aaron doesn’t want to believe that Sandra could be involved in any way—he loved her, you see. But she was the only one besides him who had a key to his house. He’s convinced that whoever killed him was in the house when he arrived. He says he came in, threw his mail on the table and decided that he smelled like antiseptic from the hospital. He went straight to the bathroom, decided to linger in the tub and listen to music. He turned on his iPod, crawled in and closed his eyes. Next thing he knew the iPod station came flying into the water and he was burning in agony.”
“I’m calling Frank Vine,” Dustin told Olivia. “He needs to bring Sandra Cheever back to the station. At the very least, he can grill her about her key to Aaron’s house.”
“I’ll get dressed,” Olivia said, and went upstairs.
Aaron was probably still among them, but couldn’t be seen or heard. Dustin called Frank, who sounded tired. “I already questioned her. She couldn’t have killed him.”
“She was the only one with a key, Frank. She has to have given that key to someone.”
“What the hell? You come down here, then. I’ll bring her in—but you ask the questions.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Can’t get much worse around here,” Frank muttered.
Dustin sighed. “It can always get worse—that’s why this has to be solved now.” He hung up and turned back to the duo still in the parlor.
“He should’ve been more careful after nearly dying at the stream,” Marcus said sadly. “Aaron should’ve been...afraid.”
As Dustin had assumed, Aaron was still there—just not visible. “Hey,” he protested. “I was in my own house and there was a deputy posted outside. I should’ve had a dog,” he said mournfully. “I should have taken one of those rescue mutts. A dog would have barked. Warned me. Oh, wait—that didn’t help you, Marcus, did it?”
“Aaron, I have an important question. Why did you buy that artwork?” Dustin asked. “That rendering of the general?”
Aaron didn’t answer. He seemed to have lost the energy to speak now, as well.
“He bought it because he wanted it for the Horse Farm. He thought Mariah would love it—that it would be great when she was telling her ghost stories,” Marcus explained.
Olivia came back down the stairs, ready for the day in jeans and a denim shirt, her bag thrown over her shoulder.
“We’re going to go through everything with Sandra one more time. And then we’re going to tear the Horse Farm apart,” Dustin said.
“We’ll keep watch,” Marcus said. “We’ll split up and...” He sighed. “Thing is, we can’t be everywhere.”
“Sammy, look after the house,” Olivia said.
They left. For once, Sammy didn’t care. Marcus had risen, but Sammy was still at his feet.
Dustin tossed Olivia the keys. “You drive. I’ll make calls.” She nodded and slid behind the wheel.
First, he called Malachi, who said he and Abby were still going through Marcus’s house, hoping to find something. Dustin told Malachi about the ghosts in Olivia’s parlor—and that he was going down to the station to question Sandra again.
Then he called Sloan at the Horse Farm and gave him the latest information.
Sloan asked him, “Can Olivia hear me right now?”
Dustin glanced at her. She couldn’t hear, he decided.
“No.”
“You may want to bring her here first. Drew suggested it. He’s called the vet because there’s something wrong with her horse.”
Dustin barely prevented himself from saying, “Shiloh?”
“Drew says it might be colic. He might have gotten hold of something bad for him out in the pasture.”
“All right, you two—”
“Stay on that horse like flies. I know, Dustin. Don’t worry. We’ll watch over her or die in the attempt. You know that.” He paused. “I guess you’d better tell her.”
“Yeah,” he said thickly.
Dustin ended the call and looked at Olivia. “Head over to the Horse Farm. I’m going to leave you there with Sloan and Jane.”
“Oh?”
“They’re getting the vet out. I’m afraid there’s something wrong with Shiloh.”
Her skin grew ashen but she concentrated on the road, carefully taking the next turn.
“People are dead,” she said, her voice heavy. “And still... I love that horse.”
“It’s okay to love your horse.”
They arrived at the ranch minutes later. Olivia had barely turned off the ignition when she was out of the car and racing for the stables. As he followed, he saw that Drew was there, coming toward her. Dustin heard Sloan call his name and turned to see him leaving the office.
Dustin slowed as he saw Drew give Olivia a hug and talk to her. Sloan reached Dustin’s side.
“The vet’s delayed. Apparently, there’s only one guy in the immediate area and he was called to a dairy farm some distance away,” Sloan explained. “Drew had just come to tell me this when you phoned. He gave me a few other numbers but it’ll be at least half an hour before anyone can get out here.”
“How bad is it? You know horses.”
Sloan kept his own horses at a farm in Virginia, close to their base. “Looks to me like it’s just a matter of very mild colic. Shiloh’s down right now, but I believe he’s going to be all right. Right after I talked to you, Drew and Sydney and I got a hose down his throat and did a decent job of pumping his stomach.”
“Thanks, Sloan,” Dustin said. He and Sloan hurried to the stables and over to Shiloh’s stall. Olivia was in with the horse. Shiloh lay on the ground, but his head was up.
