“O’Brien. Actually, Marshal O’Brien,” Kelsey said.
“Kelsey’s been working with the U.S. Marshal’s Office in Key West,” Sandy explained.
“A U.S. Marshal,” he repeated, looking at her as if she were some kind of alien life form.
She smiled at him.
“You don’t look like a cop,” he said.
“Technically, I’m not a cop.”
“But you…you do cop things.” He still seemed confused.
“More or less.”
“Can a U.S. Marshal get my stuff out of that room?” he asked.
“I can do that for you, Mr. Simmons. And I’ll help you find another location to stay, too,” Sandy told him.
“Um, can you just put me in another room?” he asked.
Sandy was clearly surprised by his request. “Of course I can. But you were pretty desperate to get out the door, Mr. Simmons.”
“Corey,” he said again, smiling. He flushed. “Ladies, I’m going to ask you to do me a massive favor. Never repeat the fact that a six-foot-three two-hundred-and-thirty-pound bronco buster ran out of his room screaming like a baby.”
Sandy laughed softly. Kelsey shrugged.
“Please,” he murmured, looking at Kelsey.
“Don’t worry. I don’t really have anyone to tell,” Kelsey said. She checked her watch. “You two will have to excuse me. I have a meeting this morning. That is, if you’re sure you’re all right now, um, Corey?”
“I’m feeling like the biggest fool in Texas, and that’s some mean space,” Corey said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Good.” Kelsey glanced at Sandy. “You call me if you need anything. And, Corey, as soon as I’m back, we’ll see to it that all your things are moved to your new room.”
“Thanks, Kelsey,” Sandy said. “But I’m sure I can manage.” She hesitated. “Uh, Kelsey? Are you interested in switching rooms with Corey? That would save me a lot of bother.”
Kelsey thought about it for a moment, then said, “Sure. Why not?” She wondered whether she’d been too rash, but Sandy’s gratitude confirmed that she’d made the right decision.
Kelsey took another look at the half-empty bottle of whiskey. Corey Simmons was either going to lie down and pass out soon, or he’d be seeing more ghosts. But Sandy smiled at her with confidence, and Kelsey figured she’d manage, just as she’d said. Sandy had supported both her parents through protracted deaths due to cancer, and Kelsey believed that was one reason she’d been so caught up in the restoration of the Longhorn. She’d pulled herself out of mourning and she’d done it by throwing herself into this massive project. She could be tough as nails when she chose. Not only that, her livelihood now depended on the inn.
“I don’t even know what this meeting is,” she said. “So don’t worry about phoning if you need me.”
Sandy nodded. As she started out, Corey Simmons called her back. “Miss—I’m sorry, Marshal! Miss O’Brien, thank you.”
She gave him a tiny salute of acknowledgment. Leaving the kitchen, Kelsey hurried back up to her room to grab her handbag. She paused to study herself in the freestanding Victorian swivel mirror. She felt she looked professional—something she hadn’t worried about in ages. She was five-nine, decked out in a black suit and simple white cotton tailored blouse. Her hair was a deep auburn, secured in a band at her nape. She had what she hoped were steady green eyes, and a lean sculpted face that lent her a look of maturity—at least in her own opinion. Despite Corey Simmons’s surprise that she was a woman who did “cop things,” she made the proper appearance for a U.S. Marshal. That seemed important in light of today’s meeting.
She hurried out of her room, then walked down the hall to 207 again. Stepping inside, she held very still and closed her eyes. She’d come up here before because of Corey’s hysteria; now, she decided to take a moment to see what her intuition would show.
She opened her eyes, but didn’t focus on the room as it was now. What she saw looked similar, but…different. Out of kilter. There was a wardrobe in the corner, but it was a slightly different wardrobe. Where the bathroom should have been, she saw a slatted Oriental divider: The bed was smaller, and a white chemise lay at the foot of it.
There were two people in the room, a man and a woman. The woman was beautiful, dark curly hair piled atop her head, long legs clad in old-fashioned stockings and garters. She wore a white shirt and corset. Her dress had been thrown on a nearby chair. The man was wearing a dark suit, a tall hat and appeared to have stepped out of an 1850s fashion ad for gentlemen. He was tall and, despite his apparel, had the rugged look of a cowhand. He strode angrily across the room and grasped the woman by the shoulders. “You won’t hold out on me!” he shouted at her. “I want it, and I want it now.”
“I don’t have it,” she said.
“You’re a liar! I know what happened in Galveston that night, and I know your pretty-boy lover won it. I want it!”
“No, it’s mine!” she responded.
“You think you’ll get back to that no-good weakling? Well, give up that dream. He moved on the moment you were gone.”
“I hate you,” she told him, shaking herself free. “I hate you, Matt. I loathe you. You forced me here, and you’ve used me enough. Even if I had it, I’d never let you have it!”
“You’re an old whore already, Rose,” he said. “I want it, and I’ll get it.”
“I will never give it to you!”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he wrenched her to him again; his fingers curled around her neck. He squeezed his hands together; he shook her hard. She grabbed desperately at his arms, trying to break his hold on her.
“Please, Matt!”
“I’ll kill you, and I’ll rip this place to shreds—and find it.”
“Please!”
That one word escaped her lips, more breath than word, as her face became red and mottled and she began to flail at him helplessly. Kelsey was so horrified by the vision that she ran to the man and woman, but of course they weren’t there, not in this time and space. As she reached them, the woman went limp, and the man picked her up and tossed her onto the bed as if she were refuse.
Then they both disappeared.
Kelsey blinked. She wanted to cry for the woman who seemed to have fallen in love so foolishly, been abused and then murdered. There’d been no future for her; she had died still a beauty.
What was the it they’d been talking about?
However, that wasn’t a concern right now.
She hurried out of the room, curious about the meeting her superior had insisted she attend.
She found herself remembering the bird on the window ledge that morning and, once again, couldn’t shake the strange feeling it had given her.
She was about to meet men named Crow and Raintree. She wondered if this meeting had something to do with the Bureau of Indian Affairs.
And yet, somehow, she had the feeling it didn’t.
She suspected it would have to do with her so-called “special” abilities. Abilities she usually kept to herself, but in the recent situation…
In all honesty, she knew why she’d been called.
This had to be connected to the body she’d found three weeks ago in Key West. That was when Archie had really begun to look at her strangely.
Body? No…she hadn’t actually discovered a body.
Just bones. Broken and disarticulated bones. They might’ve all wound up in the garbage heap or a landfill if the trucks had come through a few more times. But Kelsey had seen the woman standing there, sobbing over the heap. And when she’d looked again, there had been no woman, but…
But there’d been the bones.
Logan shook his head, staring at Jackson Crow. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t understand what? The gravity of the situation?” Crow inquired.
“No. I don’t understand what setting up a team with the FBI will accomplish that various law enforcement agencies working together won’t,” Logan said. “I don’t believe a ghost killed her.”
“I don’t, either,” Jackson said. “There are two possibilities, and since you’re a Texan, I should think either one would bother you. One, a killer is dressing up as a Texas hero to attack innocent women.”
“Or?”
“Dead Texas heroes remain…heroes. They’re still trying to save the lives of others, and warn them away. Because they recognize a killer when they see one.”
Logan wanted to argue with him; he even raised a hand to do so, but didn’t find the right words. He was suddenly reminded of the very strange experience with the birds that morning.
Strange, but certainly natural. A physical phenomenon.
And, of course, he knew that things could happen, things that didn’t always fall into the realm of natural physical phenomena.
“You don’t have to answer me now. My people are working on it. But,” Crow added wryly, “we’re being stretched far too thin.”
“I’m glad you’re not expecting an answer yet,” Logan said. “Because if you were, I’d have to say no.”
Crow shrugged. “We don’t expect anyone to just say, ‘Hey, I’ll jump on it.’ But I’ve studied law enforcement profiles, and I’d like to begin with you and Marshal O’Brien.” He sent Logan a quick smile. “I wasn’t keen on this when it first came up, either. I assumed I was receiving a major demotion. But you’d be astonished by what can be accomplished when you put the right network of people together.”
“When you have a good team, yes, it can work exceptionally well. But you don’t really know someone until you’ve met him. Or her. So, you study profiles. What happens if you meet someone you don’t like?” Logan asked.
“Then I don’t make the offer. Just so you know, I don’t work alone. A man named Adam Harrison started this…experiment, shall we say. He had friends, and he identified people around the country who had abilities. Instincts, if you prefer. He put my team together. Adam’s an interesting man, not particularly talented in this area, but he’s developed a sense for people with these uncanny skills. So far, he’s zeroed in perfectly every time.”
