Better Homes and Hauntings

13 Temporary Supernatural Reprieves

THEY HAD TO get off the island, even for just a little while.

The fact that Dotty was shaken by what she’d wanted so badly—to finally have some sort of paranormal experience—scared the hell out of Deacon. What she saw must have terrified her. That combined with Cindy and Jake’s overblown reactions to each other and Deacon’s sudden spiral into full-on, hearts-and-flowers infatuation with Nina had Deacon beginning to suspect something was “off” about the house. Whether it was physiological, psychological, or parapsychological, living at the Crane’s Nest was making their emotions go haywire. Everything they felt seemed to intensify tenfold. How else could he explain his initial overblown jealousy of anyone Nina paid attention to?

What worried him was all of his other feelings for Nina. What if his affection for her was a manipulation? It seemed impossible that any one woman could be sensible, snarky, and sexy all at the same time. Could he be seeing her through lenses colored by isolation and paranormal interference?

It wasn’t so much that he wanted to test his feelings for Nina off-island. That would be crass and shortsighted. He just wanted to see how they interacted in the real world. If they were still talking to each other when the Crane’s Nest project was over—assuming one of them hadn’t been possessed Exorcist-style—would they be able to spend time together? Date? Or would they drift apart without the stresses and intrigue of this place to throw them together?

He’d made a few calls and made arrangements with Dotty, and before he knew it, the six of them were gathered in the men’s common room, all dressed up with somewhere to go. He’d planned to attend this sure-to-be-dull-as-dirt reception for the charitable boards supported by EyeDee’s benevolent foundation by himself. But now he might actually stand a chance of having an interesting conversation at one of these things. Dotty had managed to sneak over to the mainland for appropriate clothes for the others, having snaked one of Deacon’s credit cards out of his wallet.

He chose not to think about where his cousin had picked up her lockpicking and pickpocketing abilities.

Besides, despite the questionable “special skills” section of Dotty’s résumé, Deacon trusted her shopping judgment. Although she did get distracted by a shiny pair of shoes every once in a while. And then there was that time with the car.

Even if Dotty did suddenly decide to buy a Prius, it would be worth it to hear genuine excitement in Nina’s voice for the first time. She was so sincerely and sweetly thrilled by the idea of a night out. Deacon thought he could make out the barely restrained urge to twirl and make the short skirt of her dress bell out. Nina’s delicate forest-green dress was a frothy confection of gauzy leaf appliqués frayed at the edges, giving her the illusion of being covered in leaves. She had, however, fought tooth and nail against the matching sky-high platform heels and persuaded Dotty to let her wear her trusty flats. And his suspicions that Cindy had something to do with the intricately twisted hair and unprecedented makeup were confirmed when Nina thanked her for working “fairy godmother” magic on her.

“I don’t have to do much to you,” Cindy assured her, sliding her hand along her own vaguely pinup-style red dress with draped short sleeves and plunging neckline. “And I still think you should have gone with the red. To heck with your hair clashing.”

SMILING TO HERSELF, Nina plucked at the skirt of her dress, swaying so she could watch the hem of the skirt swing back and forth like a church bell. She was usually a homebody. Fancy, crowded, expensive, crowded, tense—and had she mentioned crowded?—parties were not her scene. One of the very few functional aspects of her working relationship with Rick was that he had volunteered for the schmoozing while she focused on her plants. When Deacon announced he was taking them to a “reception” on the mainland, her instinct had been to make some excuse and try to get out of it. But Dotty had gone to such trouble to make sure they were all well-dressed for the evening, and frankly, she hadn’t taken the time to make herself this pretty in, oh, maybe ever. So she was going to attend this shindig with a smile on her face and a solemn internal promise that she wouldn’t do anything to embarrass Deacon in front of his most likely very rich and/or very smart friends. Nor would she wear the red dress, because she would never be that brave.

“I don’t have the boobs to pull that dress off,” Nina said.

“Well, it depends on how you want your night to go.” Dotty snickered. Her own dress was a confection of tiered nude lace that was surprisingly demure for a woman who had added extra red and purple curls to her hair only that morning. “And you’re right, I picked that dress for Cindy because my friend Robbie told me it is a marvel of modern engineering and will be able to support her straplessly from here until Armageddon.”

Dotty actually didn’t know much about clothes. She would run around in pajama pants most days if it didn’t mean getting funny looks at the grocery store. Robbie was one of Dotty’s many former roommates and a buyer for Macy’s. He had been happy to give her unclaimed samples according to the sizes Dotty sent over. How Dotty knew their exact sizes Nina didn’t want to know. She hadn’t had to find anything for Jake, who was his own traveling stylist, or Deacon, who apparently paid someone to pick out his clothes for him.

Now, if Nina didn’t have the boat ride to the mainland to dread, this would be a dang fairy tale. She distracted herself by watching Jake’s glazed expression as Dotty explained why the matching nude lace booties with the Swarovski crystal skulls embedded in the heels were very practical. But soon enough, Deacon announced that their ride had arrived, and Nina started applying seasickness patches behind both ears.

“Um, unless you plan on using those as a fashion statement, I don’t think you’ll need them,” Deacon told her, offering his arm as the group trooped out of the house.

Cindy, Nina noted wryly, seemed intent on keeping as much distance as possible between herself and Jake. As they rounded the corner of the staff quarters, Nina spotted a slightly larger, white version of Deacon’s “work” helicopter waiting on the flat section of yard that served as an impromptu helipad.

When Nina’s lips pursed, Deacon explained, “Jake said that you get really sick on boats.”

“I’m usually an ‘oh, you shouldn’t have’ sort of girl, but this is really sweet. Thank you,” Nina told him. “You know, I’ve never ridden in one of these before.”

“Really?” he said. “They’re a lot like taxis—cramped, sort of uncomfortable, and you’re not sure whether to trust the guy driving.”

The flight over the ocean was strangely uncomfortable. While she was very happy not to be on a boat, Nina couldn’t help but think of that scene in Jaws II when the shark pops up out of the water and eats the helicopter. Fortunately, she was only able to dwell on that cheerful thought briefly. It turned out helicopters went much faster that she’d expected.

Almost an hour later, the group landed at a discreet helipad in a tony area of Boston and took a car service to Deacon’s corporate headquarters. It felt very weird to be back “in the world.” The lights seemed too bright. The noise of the traffic and the milling crowds was practically deafening. By the time they arrived at the shockingly modest brick building near Dorchester, Nina was considering asking to stop at one of the plentiful corner drugstores for a pair of sunglasses and some earplugs. The building, with its ornate hand-bricked façade and subtle brushed-metal EyeDee logo, looked a bit shabby and aged from the outside, but the moment they stepped through the heavily secured front entrance, Nina’s superfuturistic Star Trek expectations were met. The walls were a sterile, shiny brushed aluminum, reflecting the delicate gray-blue of the carpet. The desks, on the other hand—while ultrasleek, ergonomic white structures—were covered with various toys and action figures. One particularly impressive employee had constructed a Lego version of Castle Grayskull around his computer, the monitor occupying the skull’s open mouth.

Deacon took in Nina’s frown as they passed through the main floor to the elevator. “I know, it’s a little cluttered. But I’ve found that people are more productive when they’re happy, and having a few things that personalize their desks seems to make my employees happy. Also, I may or may not have instituted Laser Tag Fridays.”

Nina giggled.

“What?” he said, chuckling. “Jake won’t play with me anymore since I chipped his tooth.”

“He hit me in the face with his gun!” Jake called over his shoulder as they got into the elevator.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t see you coming around the corner!” Deacon exclaimed.

“Until I don’t have to go to the dentist every six months for a crown inspection,” Jake muttered, not even looking toward Cindy as he cradled her elbow, preventing her from bobbling on her high heels as the elevator sprang to life. She raised her eyebrow, as if she didn’t quite know what to make of the casual, thoughtful gesture.

Nina laughed. “Actually, I was wondering what sort of toys you have on your desk.”

Deacon’s fingers slipped on the elevator buttons, making the car stop on the second and third floors before reaching their destination. Nina bit her lip to prevent a smirk. “It’s one of those super-revealing Cheetara figurines from ThunderCats, isn’t it?”

Deacon cleared his throat. “No comment.”

Jake flashed him a thumbs-up and mouthed, “Smooth.”

Deacon flashed him a rude gesture behind his back.

The doors opened to reveal a spacious rooftop terrace set with about a dozen tables. Long strings of LED-powered bulbs formed a canopy overhead, somehow making the lights of the Boston skyline pop even brighter. Several carefully shaped trees broke up the cement landscape. Two very busy bartenders were working from behind a mobile wet bar to keep the gathering properly lubricated. Jazzed-out instrumental versions of pop songs played softly from speakers hidden under brick and plexiglass benches that flanked the trees.

As soon as Deacon exited the elevator, he was mobbed. While his employees greeted their CEO with casual waves, every one of the other guests, well-dressed, slightly desperate-looking people, suddenly needed to talk to him right then about some emerging need in their charity. The press of the crowd darn near sent Nina into a panic, but Deacon slid his arm around her waist, keeping her anchored to his side as he chatted with them. He politely introduced her to each newcomer, but it was clear that their attention was limited to Deacon and his wallet, leaving Nina to distract herself with the decorations until he finally managed to lead her to where his employees had formed a sort of fort out of bar tables. There they would defend their stash of shrimp balls to the death. Nina found she much preferred this side of the roof, where it might have been quiet, but at least the faces were friendly. And they were willing to share their shrimp balls after Deacon mentioned her Flash Gordon street cred.

Deacon seemed to relax more around his employees, and soon it actually felt like a party. And Nina . . . Nina felt like his date. Deacon hadn’t specifically asked her to come as his date, of course. He’d proposed this as a group outing, but he was orbiting around her like a dedicated moon. He changed his position every time she changed hers, keeping his hand at the small of her back to lead her around the smaller, more welcoming circle and introduce her to his friends. And he actually fetched her a drink, the guy who paid someone to pick out his ties. He used the word fetch and everything. And he got her drink order right. She liked her Manhattans to run light on the vermouth, heavy on the cherries.

“The bartender is asking that you be limited to bottled water from here on out,” he told her, handing her the cocktail.

“Funny. By the way, are these silk trees?” Nina whispered, her tone horrified.

Deacon rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, looking chagrined. “Well, yeah, the staff mostly uses the rooftop for smoking, so we haven’t bothered much with landscaping. We rented those for the party. They hide the electrical equipment that’s powering the lights and the audio equipment.” When he saw her aghast expression, he added, “That was the wrong thing to say. We’ll get rid of them tomorrow. We’ll send them to a nice farm.”

“I will landscape this area for free if you never rent these monstrosities again,” she told him in the firmest tone she had used since meeting him.

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Deacon took her hand and rested it in the crook of his arm, escorting her to a long table on the far side of the roof. “Now, can I interest you in dessert, Miss Linden?”

Instead of an elaborate spread of pastries, the table was laid with dozens of small bowls full of graham crackers, Swiss-chocolate squares, peanut-butter cups, peppermint patties, sprinkles, jimmies, crushed toffee, gummy bears, and other sweets. An enormous mountain of oversized marshmallows overflowed from a tureen at the end of the table, next to a small hibachi grill, where guests could use tiny silver sticks to toast their creations.

“Of course, you make gourmet s’mores.”

“You mentioned them a few times during our ghost-story sessions,” he said. “I thought you would appreciate a chocolate and marshmallow fix.”

“I don’t know where to begin. Are you sure you can handle ‘chocolate-covered espresso bean and marshmallow’ Nina?”

“Oh, I think I can handle Nina in all of her forms.”

Eyes already widened by the choco-buffet went dinner-plate size. Had Deacon just uttered something overtly suggestive? Without blushing? Nina bit her lip and stepped closer, a movement Deacon echoed, his fingers slipping around hers.

And of course, that was the moment Deacon’s assistant and vice president of distance operations, Vi, whose claret hair rivaled Dotty’s for color saturation, approached Deacon from behind, much as a shark would sneak up on a baby seal. Nina had instantly liked the young woman, who stood only five-foot-four in her ungodly expensive platform heels but somehow managed to cow Deacon into being socially acceptable. She moved quickly and quietly, her digital tablet clutched to her chest like a shield. “Deacon, you’re going to need to say a few words.”

Deacon startled. “Damn it, Vi, we’ve talked about the skulking thing. It’s only OK when you aren’t using it on me.”

“I don’t skulk.” Vi sniffed. “I move in a stealthy manner. It’s not my fault you’re too busy making googly eyes to listen for the subtle yet telltale stiletto clacking.”

Nina’s cheeks flushed a lovely pink, while Deacon shot Vi a death glare. “Viola.”

She scowled right back. “OK, OK, no reason to pull out the embarrassing birth names. Anyway, you’re going to need to say a few words. We’ve set up a mic near the fire escape. Here are your notecards with your speech printed on them. You have three minutes to memorize it.”

“Three minutes?” Nina marveled.

“She usually gives me two and a half,” Deacon muttered, shuffling his cards.

“Well, I’m going soft on you because you’ve been off-site for a few weeks,” Vi said, straightening his tie.

“I’ll be right back,” Deacon told Nina as Vi brushed invisible lint from his lapels. He turned to his assistant. “Vi, if you spit on a tissue and try to wipe my face, we’re going to have words.”

“That happened once,” Vi said as they walked away. “And you had duck sauce on your cheek!”

Nina stared after them, grinning. She would definitely have to spend more time with Vi. Anyone who could wrangle Deacon with such authority would be a fitting mentor for someone who could only control plant life.

Now that she’d adjusted to the sensory overload of the “real world,” being off the island, even for just the evening, felt good. Nina felt as if she could think more clearly, more like herself, instead of being influenced by the house, whether that meant its oppressive atmosphere or the direct intervention of ghosts. What had her life become that this was now a normal train of thought? She sighed, sipping her drink.

And as she watched Deacon bickering happily with Vi, she realized that very little about the way she felt about him had changed since they’d left the Crane’s Nest. The way they spoke to each other, her appreciation for his thoughtful little gestures, and the goofy grin she couldn’t seem to wipe off her face were all the same as they were on the island. It was good to know that whatever else the spirits might be influencing, her feelings for Deacon were very real.

His speech was short and to the point, promising EyeDee’s support for all of his guests’ causes for the coming year. Nina moved toward the bar to get them both a drink. Deacon would need one when he was done with his comments. His jaw was clenching, and his ears were turning red, which Nina now recognized as his tells for high-stress situations. Throwing caution to the wind, she ordered him a double vodka on the rocks.

Had she not turned her back on the party to watch the bartender measure out the vermouth for her Manhattan she might have sensed Regina sneaking up on her.

“Well, Nora, don’t you clean up nicely?” the decorator cooed, smoothing a hand down her skintight black strapless sheath with an intricately beaded black and purple belt at the waist. Nina glanced down at Regina’s shoes, which were probably worth more than Nina’s car. “And your dress! It’s so . . . different.”

Nina stretched out her hand in cordial greeting, but Regina failed to take it, wrinkling her nose, as if Nina had dirt caked underneath her fingernails. Pulling back, Nina self-consciously wiped her fingers on her skirt. Before she could respond in a way that didn’t make her feel like a dowdy high school reject, Dotty sidled up to Nina and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Thank you, Regina. I chose it for Nina especially.”

Regina’s dark brows winged up. “Of course, Dotty, you’ve always had such interesting taste.”

“And we can always depend on you to wear something barely appropriate for the occasion.”

Regina ignored the jibe. “Oh, well, I wouldn’t miss one of Deacon’s little parties. I know he counts on me to help him make sure everyone is comfortable and entertained. Some people still know how to host, and I’m glad he knows he can trust that to me.”

“He has an assistant who makes sure everyone is comfortable and entertained,” Dotty retorted. “You’re here because he can’t figure out how to slough you off like dead skin.”

“Charming as always.” Regina sniffed. “Actually, Nina, I was hoping I might see you here.”

Nina waited for the inevitable punch line.

Regina signaled the bartender, who reached under his station and withdrew a bold purple folder embossed with the logo of her company, Intriguing Interiors. Regina pressed it into Nina’s hands. Inside was a neatly typed list of plants and quantities.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a floral scheme. Mr. Whitney has requested that we ‘bring a little life’ into the house with some live plants.”

Nina’s lips twitched, but she managed to hide the smile brewing there. Perhaps she was having more of an effect on Deacon than she’d believed.

“Why would you give her this now?” Dotty asked, eyes narrowed. “It’s not as if the party counts as Nina’s office hours.”

“Well, it’s not as if she thinks she’s a guest.”

Aaaaand . . . there it was.

At Regina’s tinkling laugh, Dotty’s hand bunched into a fist. Nina attempted to calm Dotty with a hand on her arm.

“She’s here as Deacon’s employee, just like the blond cleaning lady,” Regina said.

Nina let go of Dotty’s arm, because, honestly, Regina had it coming. But Dotty simply ground her teeth and gave Regina the death glare.

Unfortunately, Dotty’s restraint meant that Regina was still talking. “I’ve added several banks of potted plants within the space. Don’t bother repotting. I’ll choose the containers.”

Nina tried to imagine Regina repotting anything except maybe to pass off carryout pasta as her own cooking. Nope. It would endanger innocent plants. She would have to find some way around that. And that wasn’t the only problem. Some of the items on Regina’s list were downright ridiculous.

The incredulous expression on Nina’s face made Regina snap, “What?”

“Well, there are a couple of issues. One, you’ve got lily and dieffenbachia plants on your list, both of which are poisonous to dogs and small children.”

Regina looked completely unimpressed. “So what’s point two?”

“The orchids you’ve selected are problematic,” Nina told her. “It’s not that bifrenaria aren’t perfectly lovely flowers—”

“Yes, I picked them because they’re lovely. I needed the mix of reds to contrast with the color scheme I selected.”

“Well, unless you’re planning to display them in Mr. Whitney’s shower, you’re going to have some very dead, very expensive Portuguese orchids on your hands. Bifrenaria need a constantly circulating humidity cycle.”

“Oh, I’m sure it won’t be that important.”

“They’re very delicate flowers,” Nina insisted.

“So we’ll get silk versions. They’re almost more lifelike than the real thing these days.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Regina sneered. “Silk flowers. Surely you’ve heard of them. They do have silk flowers in the sticks, right?”

“Yes, but asking that I endorse your decorating with faux flowers is a bit of an insult. It would be like me sending you down to IKEA and telling you to use your professional training to pick out a bed-in-a-bag.”

Regina smiled sweetly, giving an airy wave to someone across the rooftop. “Oh, don’t take it so personally. You’re never going to make it as a businesswoman if you’re going to be so sensitive.”

The dismissive tone, combined with the fact that the woman couldn’t even be bothered to look at her, set Nina’s teeth on edge.

But Dotty smiled. “And how was it, exactly, that you got the investment capital to open your own firm just after you graduated from a second-tier design school?”

Regina’s smile disappeared.

“It was a graduation gift from your parents, as I recall,” Dotty added. “And I think my mother mentioned something about your parents claiming your business as a recurring loss on their taxes?”

“I’m sure your mother misunderstood,” Regina snapped. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think Deacon could use a drink.”

Before Nina could respond, Regina snatched the double vodka from the bar and slithered across the rooftop. Nina’s lip curled back from her teeth in a snarl she didn’t know she was capable of. And when Regina pressed the glass into Deacon’s hand and ran her fingers along the sleeve of his jacket, she growled, “I think I want to shave her head.”

“I thought you weren’t interested in Deacon in that way.” Dotty kept her eyes wide and innocent.

“The situation changed.” Nina’s eyes narrowed. “That was then. This is now. And now I kind of want to shave her head.”

“That’s my girl.” Dotty giggled, slipping her arm through Nina’s and leading her toward the social train wreck that was Deacon trying to dislodge Regina.

“Nina, it’s nice to see you.”

Nina froze. The voice made her insides turn to water.

She turned to see Rick Douglas—tall, dark, and sociopathic—standing behind her. He was in his element at this kind of affair, wearing a well-cut black suit and a tailored shirt. If not for the cold cruelty radiating from his dark brown eyes, he might have looked the dashing storybook hero. At one point, she had seen him that way, which may have been the reason she’d let him get away with so much before finally accepting that he was not only a bad business partner but a bad person.

Between the clothes and the meticulously styled hair, no one would have guessed that this was a man who worked in the outdoors. Of course, technically, he didn’t. He left that to his crews. The deep, golden “workman’s” tan was accomplished by visiting one of those spray tanning places twice a week.

Over his shoulder, Nina could see Regina shooting her a triumphant smirk. And the mystery of how Rick had snagged an invitation to this party was solved.

As usual, Rick was staring down his nose at her as if Nina embarrassed him just by standing there in her borrowed dress. Dotty’s hand slipped away, and Nina was left without a tether. Suddenly, she couldn’t draw breath even to speak. There were so many things she wanted to say to Rick or, better yet, heavy objects that she wanted to throw at him. Who did he think he was? What gave him the right to follow her around, terrorizing her? Why couldn’t he just leave her alone and move on with his life?

But instead, she was staring at him, silent and practically shaking with rage, giving him the satisfaction of seeing how uncomfortable she was. At the first test of the bravery and peace she’d promised herself she would find on the island, she was failing. She felt so weak and stupid, just standing there clenching and unclenching her freezing-cold hands while the edges of her vision blurred hazy red.

Then Deacon’s arm was around her waist, pulling her to his side. Instantly, her nerves settled, and her stomach stopped rolling. Her vision cleared, and she found she could breathe deeply again. Deacon rubbed her arm gently while staring through Rick, as if he was a particularly annoying pane of glass.

Nina was finally able to focus on Rick’s stupid, smarmy face as he winked at her and said, “Oh, you know me, Nina, I love a good party. And when you run a thriving business, it’s important to make contacts wherever you go.”

Maybe her business would thrive if he would just leave her the hell alone, she thought, as rational thinking bubbled up through the dissipating haze of pissed-off panic. She arranged her lips into what resembled a blithe, pleasant smile, as if she were actually pleased to see Rick and didn’t have a care in the world other than sweet-talking the caterer out of more shrimp balls.

Even being a champion bullshitter, Rick couldn’t hide the flash of irritation in his eyes or the flexing of his fingers, as if he was itching to smack the smile off Nina’s face. With some effort, Rick schooled his features into a more acceptable social mask. He reached out to shake Deacon’s hand, but Deacon merely stared, as if he was being offered a dead fish. Rick cleared his throat, clearly caught off-guard by the snub.

“Deke, good to see you again.”

Nina felt Deacon bristle at the familiarity and the use of the dreaded high school nickname, and she couldn’t help but smirk at her former boss’s gaffe. Now it was her turn to give Deacon’s hand a comforting rub. Rick lacked the sense to pick up on the tension and continued with his we’re just a couple of bros here spiel.

“Mr. Douglas. I don’t remember seeing your name on the guest list.”

“Oh, I was lucky enough to be asked as a plus-one,” Rick said, glancing in Regina’s direction before quickly averting his eyes.

DEACON WOULD HAVE to have a serious talk with his security team. Invitational charity event or not, they still needed to check IDs before letting people into the building. His sudden urge to place Nina in one of those hyperenforced, suspended Loki chambers for her own protection was overwhelming. Jake could put one together, he was sure of it. But he was sure that Nina would object to being imprisoned like a Marvel Universe supervillain. Also, Dotty and Cindy would just let her out the moment his back was turned.

And unfortunately, during his mental escapade, that douchebag Rick was still talking. “Wonderful place you have here, though the landscaping up here leaves much to be desired. I’d be happy to put together a bid for a rooftop garden. A few ornamental Japanese cherry trees here and there—”

Deacon’s smile was just as smarmy. “Actually, Nina has already presented me with a comprehensive plan for the rooftop. I couldn’t be more pleased with her ideas.”

Nina tried not to let her surprise show through her pleasant mask. She wasn’t aware that threatening silk trees was considered a comprehensive plan, but she wasn’t about to let Rick see her contradict her boss.

“Well, if that’s the way you want to go, that’s your choice. By the way, how is our little Nina doing out at your job site?” Rick asked as he sipped his Scotch.

Deacon directed a fond glance at Nina, making her cheeks go pink. “I’m very pleased with her work.”

“I’m sure you are,” Rick said with barely concealed nastiness. “I mean, you would have to be, to hire a total unknown like her when there were so many other experienced firms bidding. I’m sure she pulled out all of the tricks in her bag to get the job.”

“Talent always shines through,” Deacon said, his voice glacial.

“Oh, I know all about Nina’s talent,” Rick assured him, his eyes raking down Nina’s body.

Nina’s jaw dropped, and she surprised even herself when she stepped forward to do some sort of swizzle-stick-related violence against him.

But Deacon pulled her closer to his side, then smiled just as smugly. “I doubt that very much,” he said smoothly. “Excuse us. There are some people we need to speak to.”

Deacon ignored Rick’s sputtering after them as he led Nina through the crowd. It was only then that Nina realized that Jake and Cindy had moved in behind her and Deacon during the conversation and were now preventing Rick from following them by pretending to be interested in his business. Deacon pulled his phone from his pocket, furiously texting with one hand while snagging two glasses of the champagne from a passing tray. He handed them both to Nina.

“Thanks for being the voice of reason,” she said between gulps of exquisitely delicate bubbly she barely even tasted. “I would have hated to break up your party when the cops were called. I’m pretty sure stabbing someone with a swizzle stick is a felony.”

“It was as much for me as for you. What an asshole!” Deacon exclaimed. “How did you stand working with that douche for two years?”

“He wasn’t always that bad,” she promised. “He’s just not used to getting one-upped. It’s like dealing with a toddler. You don’t give him what he wants, and eventually the tantrum becomes less about the thing he wants and more about not wanting to be thwarted.”

“Regina invited him. I just texted my security chief. She was the only guest with an unnamed plus-one. I just don’t get why she would do it.”

“Really? You don’t know why Regina would want me to be uncomfortable and socially stressed, maybe make a scene at one of your events and embarrass you? Regina strikes me as the type who likes to sweep the field clear of competition, real or imagined. And if she thought there was a possibility that you would bring me here as your date, she would want to be prepared.” When Deacon’s eyes widened, she gave a tinkling laugh. “Women are complicated, terrifying creatures.”

“You’re not kidding.” Suddenly, he turned to her. “I can have him ejected from the party, you know. It’s one of the perks of hosting these things. I can have people thrown out. And Tasered. Maybe even cavity-searched.”

“As much as I appreciate it, that wouldn’t do any good.” She sighed, reaching out to squeeze his hands. “It would cause a scene, which might make the news, particularly the cavity search. It would make a poor impression on your guests. And Rick would know that he upset me, which I would like to avoid. Better to let him soak up all that free Scotch and make an ass out of himself in front of a bunch of potential clients.”

“Weapons of self-destruction, I like it. But seriously, I’ve waited my whole life to attain the power to kick assholes like that out of my parties. You’d be doing me a favor.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” she promised.

Behind him, a jazz trio started to play, having waited until after the cocktail hour to begin their set. “Wanna dance?”

“I can’t remember the last time I danced,” she said, nodding. “A cousin’s wedding, maybe, five years ago.”

“I can beat that,” he said. “Senior prom, sixteen years ago.”

“Ouch.”

“Dotty was my date.”

“Double ouch.”

He led her to the dance floor, holding her hand as gently as he would a mint-condition action figure. He slid his other hand around her waist and held her right hand at the proper angle while they swayed in small concentric circles. Dotty was dancing with an older man who was looping her around the floor in wide circles. Cindy had refused all requests for dances but had allowed Jake to get her a few more pastries, which they were planning to enjoy on the fire escape, far from the crowd.

When was that girl going to take pity on him?

Deacon snapped her out of her reverie. “You’re actually doing me a favor, you know.”

“I am?”

“If the whispering among my staff is any indication, this dance is probably serving as the office pool breaker for ‘Is Deacon Whitney asexual?’ ”

“That’s kind of insulting. How is that helping you?”

He shrugged. “I put fifty dollars down on ‘not asexual.’ ”

“They let you bet?”

“Well, I bet under Vi’s name.”

Nina’s laugh came out as more of a cackle, much louder than she intended. And the way she slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound made Deacon guffaw.

While Deacon’s employees grumbled among themselves and exchanged bills, another pair of dark eyes watched the couple from the bar. Angry, vicious dark eyes zeroed in on the redheaded dirt-grubber, the pretender sucking up all of the attention and opportunities that belonged to the more deserving.

JAKE PADDED DOWN the hall from the shower room to his bedroom, whistling a little tune under his breath. Thunder rolled outside, making the lights flicker under the strain of the storm. The helicopter had barely dropped them off in time, before the rain started. The sight of Nina, Cindy, and Dotty hustling across the lawn, high-heeled shoes in hand, trying to protect their dresses from the rain, still had him smiling. He wrapped the towel around his neck, squeezing the last drops of water from his thick hair.

“Good night!” he called down the hall, receiving a grunt from Deacon in return. His best friend was currently facedown on his bed, exhausted from the effort of being social all evening. Jake grinned, nudging his bedroom door open. Before he could flick on his light switch, he saw the curvy feminine shape outlined against his bed by the lightning outside. Her back was turned to the door. He grinned, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Cindy.

To say he was surprised to find her waiting for him was a massive understatement. They’d had a very nice time at the party, and he’d taken pains to behave like a gentleman. He hadn’t even made any double entendres, and with Deacon’s employees’ discussions of hard drives, he’d had ample opportunities. He’d walked her to her door, and she’d offered him a sweet, perfunctory kiss on the lips.

But here she was, in his bed, her long blond hair falling in damp waves over his pillow.

He sincerely hoped she hadn’t actually meant to crawl into Deacon’s room, because that would have been demoralizing.

“Hey, doesn’t this break about a dozen of your rules?” he whispered. “Not that I mind, but you were pretty firm about the whole ‘no-fly zone’ thing.”

Jake tried to remember how many drinks she’d had during the party. Surely two or three martinis weren’t enough to have her mistaking his room for hers. As much as he wanted her there, he didn’t want her to act now and regret it later, undoing all of the trust he’d built with her.

The lightning flashed, and the windows practically rattled with the force of the thunder. Cindy stayed completely still, save for the rise and fall of the blankets as she breathed. Jake wondered if she’d fallen asleep while she was waiting for him. He wouldn’t mind that, he supposed. He didn’t know if he would be comfortable doing anything besides spooning, with Deacon just a few yards away. He was a man who appreciated his privacy.

Tossing the towel aside, Jake lifted the blankets to slide in beside her. For a moment, he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. Or, rather, what he wasn’t seeing. There were no legs under his sheets. Trembling, he leaned over the bed, trying to get a better look at her face.

“Cindy?”

The figure rolled toward him, thick wet coils of faded blond hair hanging over a face blued by water and time. She was falling apart, right before his eyes, her skin hanging loose, rotting from bones it wasn’t quite connected to anymore. The drooping lips were purple and ragged. Her eyes were white, opaque as milk, and staring up at him, pleading, silently screaming for help. Jake scrambled back, losing his footing on the rug and ramming his back into his dresser. The woman crawled over the sheets toward him, peering over the edge of the mattress while he sprawled on the floor.

“Gerald,” the figure whispered, before fading away.

Jake stared at the bed and the sheets left rumpled by what should have been a figment of his imagination. But figments didn’t leave behind rumpled sheets. Which meant that there was a ghost in his bed. And given the blond hair and the “recently waterlogged” appearance, it was the ghost of Catherine Whitney.

“What the hell?” he yelped.

A few moments later, Deacon came thundering into the room. And Jake suddenly realized there was no way he was going to explain this situation, not with the lightning crashing outside and the wind howling. It was just too creepy, as if verbalizing what he saw would make it more real.

Also, he was going to have to wash those sheets.

“What’s going on?” Deacon demanded. “This whole shrieking-in-the-middle-of-the-night thing is getting old really quick.”

“Uh, I saw a spider,” Jake said. “A big one.”

“You saw a spider?” Deacon asked. “That made you scream like a girl and knock your dresser into the wall so hard it knocked over my nightstand?”

Jake held his hands a few inches apart. “Big one.”

Deacon frowned down at him.

“Sorry,” Jake said. “I think I’ll sleep out on the couch.”

Deacon scoffed. “What?”

Jake stared at the bed, which he doubted he would ever think of as comfortable again. “I don’t know where it went. I’m not sleeping in a room with a big spider.”

Deacon objected. “But with the storm—”

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted. Because there was no way he was going to be able to answer, I’m pretty sure your great-great-grandmother’s ghost just tried to cuddle with me.

“All right, good night,” Deacon called over his shoulder.

“Good night.” Jake padded back down the hallway with considerably less pep in his step, clutching his blanket to his chest like a shield.

What had just happened? Sure, he’d had visions in the house. He’d felt strange sensations. But hadn’t Dotty said that full apparitions were a rare occurrence? Why would Catherine Whitney appear to him in that waterlogged, corpse-like state? In his previous experiences with Catherine, she’d appeared young and beautiful and anatomically intact. Why would she suddenly try to scare him? Were they getting closer to the truth of her murder? Was it that couples in the house seemed to be pairing off and that made her angry or jealous? Was she trying to warn them about something?

He would talk to Dotty about it in the morning. For now, he was just going to sit and stare at the walls until the sun came up.