Gatekeeper

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Gatekeeper ISBN 9781419914850 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Gatekeeper Copyright © 2008 Debra Glass Edited by Kelli Kwiatkowski. Photography and cover art by Les Byerley. Electronic book Publication April 2008 With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/) This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

GATEKEEPER Debra Glass

Dedication This book is dedicated to the real Thomas Benton Smith for ironically believing in me, and especially to my real-life hero and husband Timm, whose encouragement and unwavering support have made all my dreams come true. Thanks guys!

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Chanel: Chanel, Inc. Chevy Blazer: General Motors Corporation Christian Louboutin: Christian Louboutin S.A.R.L. Corporation France Fendi: Fendi Adele S.R.L. Ltd. Liab. Co. Italy Ford: Ford Motor Company Ghost Whisperer: CBS Studios Inc. Jaguar: Jaguar Cars Limited Corporation Mack: Mack Trucks, Inc. Manolo Blahnik: Blahnik, Manolo Mountain Dew: Pepsico, Inc. Nike: Nike, Inc. Ouija board: Hasbro Inc. Pizza Hut: Pizza Hut, Inc. Ralph Lauren: PRL USA Holdings, Inc. Rolex: Rolex Watch U.S.A., Inc. Samsonite: Samsonite Corporation Scrunchie: L&N Sales and Marketing, Inc. Tennessee Titans: Tennessee Football Inc. Tic Tac: Ferrero S.P.A. Corporation Italy TV Land: Viacom International Inc. Volkswagen: Volkswagen Aktiengesellschaft

Author Note As a child growing up in Alabama, I was steeped in stories of cavaliers and cotton fields—and of course, ghosts. But it wasn’t until I bought a haunted piano business in 2001 that I had my first supernatural encounter with the store’s former, deceased owner. Realizing there was an intelligent entity in my presence, I resolved to learn to communicate with him and, in doing so, soon learned a direct ancestor, Miriam Hills, was a medium who wrote for a nineteenth-century psychic newsletter. After developing my own mediumistic gifts, I encountered the spirit of Thomas Benton Smith while on a trip to the Shiloh National Military Park. Motivated by his presence, I began to research his life. Thomas Benton Smith was born February 24, 1838, in Tennessee. Benton was a brilliant young man with a flair for mechanical inventiveness. He even acquired a patent for one of his inventions. At sixteen, he was accepted at Western Military Institute in Nashville. At the outbreak of the Civil War, twenty-three-year-old Smith and his older brother, John, enlisted in the Twentieth Tennessee Regiment. Benton rose quickly in the ranks and was elected colonel shortly after the Battle of Shiloh. At the Battle of Stone’s River, he was seriously wounded by a shot through the chest and left arm. His brother, who served as the Regiment’s color bearer, was killed. On July 29, 1864, he became the youngest brigadier general in the Army of Tennessee, earning him the nickname The Boy General. On December 16, 1864, Benton Smith was captured at the battle of Shy’s Hill. Smith and his men were marched through the Federal dead and wounded, who lay thick on the steep slopes of Nashville’s Overton hills. Eyewitnesses reported he exchanged words with Federal Colonel McMillen, who began verbally assailing Smith. Smith’s only reply was, “I am a disarmed prisoner.” At that remark, McMillen struck the twenty-six-year-old Smith over the head with his saber three times, each blow cutting through Smith’s slouch hat, the last driving him to the ground and fracturing his skull. Smith, despite all odds, recovered enough to be sent to Federal prison at Fort Warren, Massachusetts, but his injuries proved more detrimental than they initially seemed. After his release in 1865, he began to succumb to frequent bouts of mania. Deemed dangerous to himself and others, he was placed in a Tennessee insane asylum. Thomas Benton Smith passed away from a heart condition on May 21, 1923, at the asylum. He was interred in the Confederate Circle in Mt. Olivet Cemetery in Nashville. His spirit remains with me today. His gallantry, courage, intelligence and just plain smartass behavior inspired me to write Gatekeeper. The character of Thomas Benton Smith is based on many aspects of the real Smith’s life, although I took liberties to turn one of my real-life heroes into a romantic hero. I hope you enjoy Gatekeeper.

Debra Glass

Prologue “‘The boundaries which divide Life from Death are, at best, shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends and the other begins?’” Amy Drew blinked against the bright light shining in her face. Blinding pain throbbed in the back of her head. Where was she? Why couldn’t she move? Was that a flashlight? Consciousness crept slowly back. She’d been at Shy’s Hill. That’s right. At the Civil War site. She’d been helping an earthbound spirit find the Light. Yes. It was coming back now. “‘It may be asserted, without hesitation’,” a raspy voice droned, “‘that no event is so terribly well adapted to inspire the supremeness of bodily and of mental distress, as is burial before death.’” Amy struggled. Panic seized her as she fought to remain conscious. Someone had hit her! Someone had hit her on the back of the head. The ghost had tried to warn her. But who? Why? She tried to speak but something prevented her mouth from moving. Tape? Terrified, she writhed furiously against ropes binding her wrists and ankles. Her screams were muffled by the tape. “Do you remember the story, Amy? Do you remember the nightmares?” Whose voice was that? She recognized it but couldn’t place it. She squinted against the bright light. If only she could calm down and use her psychic ability to…to what? Terror surged. She thrashed against her bonds. Her breaths were rapid and shallow, hindered by the gag. Something landed on the damp grass next to her face. She jolted. A flash lit up the surrounding area. Someone was taking pictures! She blinked furiously and twisted in the bursts of light. Her gaze riveted to a tattered copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s Premature Burial. Her heart slammed relentlessly against her rib cage. The tape muffled her screams. A hand reached down and yanked out a lock of her hair. Searing pain burned her scalp. Amy twisted and fought at the bonds until every muscle in her body blazed. “That’s just in case the photos aren’t enough proof.” And then the gloved hand took up the Poe book once more. “Shall I continue? “‘The unendurable oppression of the lungs—the stifling fumes from the damp earth—the clinging to the death garments—the rigid embrace of the narrow house—the blackness of the absolute Night—the silence like a sea that overwhelms—the unseen but

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palpable presence of the Conqueror Worm—these things, with the thoughts of the air and grass above, with memory of dear friends who would fly to save us if but informed of our fate, and with consciousness that of this fate they can never be informed.’” Amy’s captor laughed without mirth. “You’re thinking about your little sister now aren’t you, Amy? You’re hoping—no, praying—she will find you in time. But Jillian doesn’t have your gift, does she? No. Is she still afraid of it? Does she still wake up during the night screaming the boogeyman is going to get her?” Tears streamed from the corners of Amy’s eyes. This person was insane. Why was this happening? What had she done? What had Jillian done? It didn’t make sense. The hoarse voice continued. “This is my favorite part… ‘That our hopeless portion is that of the really dead—these considerations, I say, carry into the heart, which still palpitates, a degree of appalling and intolerable horror from which the most daring imagination must recoil.’” A foot pressed into her side and gave her a cruel shove. She was falling! Then with a solid thud, she landed on her back. The breath rushed out of her lungs from the impact. Standing above her, just a black silhouette against the midnight blue sky—above the freshly dug grave—was her captor. Amy’s heart thudded explosively. Why was this happening? Why? The nightmare she’d had all her life was coming true. She was being buried alive! “You should never have tried to release him, Amy.” A bone-chilling laugh erupted from her captor. “We know of nothing so agonizing upon Earth—we can dream of nothing half so hideous in the realms of the nethermost Hell.” And then, everything went black.

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Chapter One Kiss me. He was so close. So close. Jillian peered into the shadows but she could not see his face. She simply knew he was there. Her body heated with anticipation. Her pulse slowed to a steady, thick throb. Who are you? She squinted against the darkness. Was this a dream? A hand reached through the gauzy night and her gaze dropped to where long fingers flirted with hers and then traveled up her arm. Another hand caught her other arm and she found herself toe to toe with this man—this phantom dream lover. Just kiss me…please. She’d never wanted anything more than this—one kiss from this compelling stranger whose simple touch made all her inhibitions flee. But who was he? She tilted her head back but the darkness was too dense. She could only feel him— and right now, she needed him. Something elusive flitted in her thoughts with the promise of this man’s protection—and more. “Who are you?” she asked. Her voice sounded muffled, as if she were under water. Gatekeeper… Confusion muddled her brain. It didn’t matter who he was. All that mattered was that he was here. Now. And she wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. “Kiss me,” she whispered as her hands found the hard wall of his chest. And then his mouth was on hers, soft at first, gentle, until the pressure hardened and stifled Jillian’s cry. His tongue pushed into her mouth and she responded with complete abandon. The hands that had been holding her arms wound around her shoulders and drew her body up against his. Jillian realized they were both naked when she felt his rock-hard arousal wedged against her abdomen. She gasped and shook with need. Wet desire pooled between her legs as her pussy clenched in anticipation. She had never been in the presence of a man who exuded such blatant masculinity and sexuality. She wanted him inside her. She wanted him now.

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Her hand crept between them, down…down to where his cock strained against her stomach. Boldly, she took it in her hand, running her fingers along the pulsating length, down to where his testicles were drawn tight with desire. His kisses had moved to her ear and the ragged breath of approval he let out when she explored his cock and balls sent wild electricity through Jillian’s body. She shifted restlessly against this tense, taut stranger. Please… He swelled in her hand and she guided him toward her pussy, arching and spreading for him. When his cock brushed her distended clit, she thought she would come. Please! I want you inside me. I want you to come inside me. A groan tore from his throat and his hand slid under her thigh and suddenly he was lifting her up and onto his cock. Jillian cried out as it filled her. She wrapped her legs around his and he held her, his strong arms pumping her body up and down on his thrusting phallus. This had to be a dream. She felt as if there were no gravity to weigh her down. She felt as if she were floating in his arms. Jillian clung, her nails digging into the back of his broad shoulders. Her body trembled. Blood surged through her veins and she ground her pussy against him, furiously searching for release. It was so good. All coherent thought fled. Every ounce of her being was concentrated on what was happening inside her cunt. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her ass, his fingertips dangerously close to her anus. She squeezed with her legs, shifting so his finger grazed her there. She wanted him everywhere, all at once, encompassing her being—completing her. He complied. The tip of his finger pushed its way into her tight rosette and Jillian whimpered. She buried her face in the curve of his neck, breathing in the heady scent of male perspiration and the woody redolence of a campfire. She wriggled and his finger slid in farther and that, mingled with his thrusting cock, was all it took to send her spiraling helplessly over the edge. Come with me, come with me… Her teeth grazed his shoulder as she convulsed, her juices coating his cock and finger, mindlessly spinning in a perfect, endless orgasm… The suddenly she was cold and alone in the darkness. She groped for her phantom lover but he was nowhere to be found. Panic surged. Chills swept up her spine. Jillian couldn’t move. Dark, shadowy figures with eyes glowing red hovered above her. She gasped, trying to draw in enough breath to scream. The entities circled like sharks, emanating every foul emotion known to man. Hate, greed, jealousy, fear—evil. Paralyzed with terror, she could only watch and await their attack, certain they were going to drag her off to whatever hell they’d escaped from. 9

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We’re coming for you, Jillian. Unearthly voices taunted her. And then they dove at her— A scream tore from her throat and Jillian found herself sitting bolt upright in her bed. Her gaze scanned the room. The ceiling fan swirled slowly overhead. A comforting blue glow radiated from the television she left on every night. Her cat, Sirius, was curled up at her feet, staring indignantly. She blew out a sharp breath and burrowed her fingers into the thick, dark hair at her temples. “A nightmare. Only a nightmare.” She rarely dreamed. But when she did, it always ended with the nightmare, about those ghosts. She’d had it again. A tremor swept up her spine and she shook off the awful memory of the ghosts that had terrorized her childhood. She’d tried to forget the eerie memories. Why now? Why after all these years was she having this nightmare again? Because something bad is about to happen. A shudder swept up her spine as she recalled the terror-filled nights of her childhood when those things, those beings, haunted her, hovering like vultures over her bed while she cowered under the covers. But the bad ones, the scary ones, hardly left the imprint on her childhood that the sight of her mother’s ghost had. No, that one had left a raw, gaping wound in her soul. A chill raised gooseflesh on her arms as she recalled her dream lover. Jillian’s gaze swept the room. Was someone with her now? God, she hoped not. She shook with horror at the thought of seeing a ghost again. But nothing moved. No smoky image swirled into view. She was just shaken by the nightmare. Shaken and trembling and wet between the legs. That was all. She reached for her bottle of water and took a long drink. Images from the nightmare part of her dream assailed her and she shook her head as if she could shake the memory of it away. She hadn’t seen a ghost in fifteen years. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” She said the words aloud as if that gave them more meaning and then took a deep, cleansing breath. Her heart rate had almost returned to normal. Sirius’ green-eyed gaze softened as if he were certain Jillian was now all right. He restored his round black head to his big coiled paws and, as if to show he harbored no resentment, purred when she gave him an affectionate scratch between the ears. Sleep was out of the question after that combination dream-nightmare, so she fished around in her white Ralph Lauren sheets until she found the remote concealed under a pillow. But before she could change the channel from an infomercial to a TV Land rerun, the phone rang.

*****

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Jillian had never seen Nashville so dead. She’d only passed two cars since turning onto Harding Place, which connected with the turnoff to Shy’s Hill. She took a deep breath. That was where her sister’s abandoned Volkswagen van had been found. The foreboding dream of the ghosts crept back into her thoughts. Jillian’s wellmanicured nails dug into the leather-covered steering wheel. “No,” she said aloud. No. The dream didn’t have anything to do with this. She wasn’t going to lose Amy the way she’d lost her mother. “Amy’s fine. We’re going to find her. She’ll be fine.” But apprehension gnawed at her insides and unwelcome memories of her mother’s funeral surfaced. Jillian struck the steering wheel and blocked the memory as she passed the cozy homes of some of Nashville’s most well-to-do citizens. Lights warmed a few windows but most people were still snoozing in their beds at this time of morning. She squinted against the dawn sky which was layered with muted shades of lavender and pink. Leaning forward, she strained to read the upcoming street sign. Benton Smith Road. That was it. That was the street name she had scrawled on the back of a receipt. Her heart fluttered fast in her chest and despite the fact no one was behind her for more than a mile, Jillian flipped on her blinker and wheeled her silver sports car up the steep hill. Already several police cars were parked at the halfway mark just at the foot of the Civil War historic site. Amy’s rattletrap VW sat with the wheels turned toward the curb so it wouldn’t roll down the hill if it accidentally shifted out of gear. Jillian’s stomach tightened into a knot. When she’d gotten the phone call she’d hoped it would all be a mistake, that it really wasn’t Amy’s van. But it was. Typical Amy. Jillian fought down the wave of anger welling inside her. How could Amy have been so careless? Why was she always so trusting? Why was she forever offering help to anyone who gave her a sob story? Jillian parked and got out of her car. She shivered against the early November chill and huddled inside her ice blue Chanel cashmere sweater. She drew the collar up to warm her ears which were exposed due to her severely pulled back ponytail. What on earth was Amy doing at a Civil War site, of all places? “Ms. Drew, Captain Carter wants to see you at the top of the hill,” one of the other officers called. Jillian swallowed and started the ascent to the top of Shy’s Hill. Here and there, a piece of old railway tie served as a stair but they were laid unevenly and some were rotted. It was difficult to see in the dim morning light and the steep trail was made even more treacherous by her tan Manolo Blahnik crocodile pumps, but she always wore them when she was afraid, as if they could give her confidence—and right now, she needed all the self-assurance she could muster. With every step, Jillian felt more and more dread. Something had happened to her sister. Something terrible. She dismissed the premonition. And she tried in vain to shake off the anger toward her sister for putting herself in such a precarious position.

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Jillian stopped in her tracks when she saw a throng of officers from the Metro Nashville homicide department already combing the area for evidence. She fought the rising wave of panic. This is just procedure. It doesn’t necessarily mean Amy is dead. Her breaths were short and shallow. Bright yellow police tape had already been strung around the perimeter. “This is a typical crime scene,” she said aloud to dispel her raw nerves. She’d worked with these people for three years on an as-needed basis doing criminal profiling. She’d seen crime scenes just like this one countless times. But this time she could not deny it was different. This time, it was her own sister. Jillian’s knees went weak. What if they found a body? What if they found Amy’s body? What if they didn’t? She fought down a surge of panic and crossed the rocky summit toward the spot where Theo Carter kneeled on the ground. One of the police photographers was walking away from the scene. Jillian avoided eye contact with him. Her stomach clenched. Squirrels and birds rummaged in the brush for breakfast, heedless of the fact a crime had been committed here. “Theo?” He turned. His mocha-colored face contorted into a grimace as he pushed himself up to his full height of six foot seven. Before joining the department, he’d been a linebacker for the Tennessee Titans when a knee injury cut his football career short. Something dismal darkened his brown eyes. The contents of the rainbow-colored hemp bag Amy usually carried lay scattered in the gravel at his feet. Jillian tore her gaze away from it. Theo’s sympathetic stare was hardly more comforting. Dammit, Amy. “Where’s my sister?” Her voice trembled. Theo pursed his lips and a big hand descended on Jillian’s shoulder. “We don’t know. It looks like an abduction.” “An abduction?” Who would want to abduct Amy? Rape cut a dark and ugly path through Jillian’s thoughts. Underneath all the beaded headscarves and gauzy broomstick skirts, Amy was a beautiful woman. And although Jillian knew beauty didn’t have anything to do with rape, she couldn’t shake the idea from her mind. Theo did not look hopeful. He stepped back and shined a flashlight on the ground. “Obviously there was a struggle but it took place near the stairs.” He pointed to where several officers were kneeling and collecting evidence from the ground. His serious expression told her there was more. “We found blood which has already been sent to the crime lab for a DNA check.” Then his voice dropped to a whisper. “And Jillian, this is a difficult thing to tell you but—we’re treating this as a potential homicide.”

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Her heart lurched. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Amy dead? Her hands started to shake. She was about to lose control. No, not here. Not here. She forced the thought from her mind. The blood could be anyone’s. It might not be Amy’s. But a gut suspicion told her it was. She knelt next to the eviscerated purse. Tic Tacs. A deck of Tarot cards in a blue velvet bag. A cell phone. A pair of purple dollar store reading glasses. But those things were not what twisted Jillian’s insides into hopeless mush. Amy’s change purse was filled with money. Debit and credit cards were tucked haphazardly into the side pockets of her wallet. The nearly empty checkbook had not been touched. This was no mugging. It would be so much easier to figure out if it were. But was it premeditated? Did the offender know Amy? Jillian quickly ruled out kidnapping for ransom. Amy did psychic readings for a living and to Jillian’s knowledge, didn’t even have a savings account much less investments or anything of great monetary value. The doleful coo of a mourning dove broke the quiet. Theo scratched his bald head. “What do you think she was doing up here?” Jillian shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her in a couple days. And besides, she usually doesn’t tell me what she’s up to. We have a rule never to discuss her…extrasensory perceptions.” She stood. “How long has the van been parked there? Someone must have reported it.” “You’re quite perceptive yourself,” Theo said. “The fellow who lives across the street thought some hippies were up here smoking weed and called it in. Apparently she showed up here around dusk yesterday evening.” Jillian blew out a breath. “Amy and that damn van. She really had a great time playing up the whole psychic persona thing.” Oh God. She’d said had. Think positive. We’re going to find her. “Did your caller say anything about seeing another vehicle?” Theo shook his head. “Of course there was no answer at her house.” It was more of a hopeful question than a statement. “Nope. An officer has already been there. He found a yapping little dog inside. Looked like it hadn’t been let out in awhile if you know what I mean.” Something was wrong. Really wrong. Amy would never have left Boo alone for that long. She adored that dog. “Jillian.” Theo was always dead serious when he started a statement with her name. Her gaze met his. Compassion warmed his dark brown eyes. “I have a family. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if something happened to my wife or kids.”

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For the first time a lump welled in her throat. Tears stung her eyes. Her mind raced with all the awful possibilities of what could have happened to her sister. She wished he’d stop talking this way. She was going to lose it right here in front of everyone. She fought hard to maintain control. “I’m not trying to upset you,” he said. “It’s just…I know you’re close to this case. Too close. Normally I wouldn’t allow a relative to be involved with the investigation. But you’ve got a sixth sense about these things. Everybody in the department knows it.” Jillian already felt the terror rising and this fear didn’t have anything to do with Amy’s disappearance. But then, Amy had never feared her psychic ability the way Jillian had. She shook her head and refused to let the images of the nightmare ghosts into her head. “You do. You’ve profiled more suspects than any of the other psychologists I’ve used. You’re dead on. Every time. Do you think you can get your head in this and profile the son of a bitch who took your sister?” Jillian swallowed. Hard. Could she? She gave him a doubtful nod. She wasn’t like Amy. She wasn’t psychic. She’d put an end to all that after her mother had died—after her mother’s spirit had tried to contact her. Jillian fought hard to chase away the indelible image of her mother’s ghost from her mind. Panic surged to the surface. Jillian balked. Where was this uncharacteristic behavior coming from? Usually when she profiled an offender she felt strong, confident and analytical. But not this time. This time she felt vulnerable and angry and scared out of her skin. Her gaze rested on the contents of Amy’s purse once more. Theo was right. She had nailed every case she’d ever worked on. And she was determined to nail this one, to find Amy alive and unharmed. With resolve, Jillian slipped on a latex glove and bent down to examine the evidence. Steeling herself, she started with the cell phone. There were no unusual calls. Besides, the crime lab would be checking her phone records. The wallet was untouched. Amy’s deck of Tarot cards was still neatly tucked into a midnight blue velvet bag. She blew out a sigh. There’s more, Jillian. She rubbed her throbbing temples. She was going crazy. The voice in her head sounded strange. Male. She stood. More what? Where? And then, as if coerced by an unseen hand, she walked several feet toward the woods. “What are you gettin’?” Theo asked as he strode along behind her.

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“I don’t know,” she said—just as the rising sun glinted off something gold and shiny in the dew-laden leaves. Squatting, she squinted and, upon closer inspection, discovered it was an old bronze button with the letters CSA emblazoned on it. “This is evidence,” Jillian said. “It’s connected to Amy.” “I’ll get somebody to bag it,” Theo said before he walked away. Jillian lifted the strange little bronze button out of the gravel and examined it. Her fingers tingled through the glove. There was something about this button… She had to feel it—touch it. Her gaze darted to where Theo stood, hands on his hips, talking to the other officers. Instinctively, she ripped the glove off her right hand. Her heart thudded hard against her rib cage. Theo would kill her for contaminating evidence. But she’d seen Amy do this countless times. It was called psychometry—the art of gleaning psychic impressions from an object. Her gaze swept the summit of Shy’s Hill once more. No one was watching. And then, with trembling fingers, she dropped the button into her hand. A rushing wave of sudden images slammed her. She could see her outstretched hands, one of which clutched the button. Bangles encircled both wrists. Garish rings glittered on her fingers. The harsh November breeze blew blonde hair across her face. These weren’t Jillian’s hands. This wasn’t Jillian’s dark hair. She was looking through Amy’s eyes! A strange rainbow-colored light encircled her and in the haze, she could see a tall figure. A man. He stared as if awaiting something. His form was somewhat solid but faded into the mist as if he were made of it. Dark, wavy hair framed the strong lines of his face accentuated by a thoroughly piratelike moustache and spade beard. But he was no pirate. Bronze buttons like the one she held in her hand glittered on his gray coat. The silver hilt of a sword glimmered at his belt and three stars twinkled on each side of his collar. He was a soldier, possibly from the Civil War. Confused and stunned, Jillian fell onto her backside. The button slipped through her trembling fingers and onto the leaf-strewn ground. Her breaths came in ragged gasps. What happened? Who was that man? Why was he dressed that way? What did he have to do with Amy’s disappearance? Jillian’s gaze riveted to the button nestled in the gravel between her knees as stark realization seeped through her veins. The button was the sole link to her sister. The button—and the ghost of a Civil War soldier.

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Chapter Two Jillian’s heart sank. Did the button belong to the ghost? She shuddered at the thought. But somehow she knew it was the key to what happened to Amy. She knew it. She contemplated picking it up again to see what other images came to her. With a deep breath, she reached for it but then hesitated. What would happen? Would she be thrust into Amy’s perception again? What would the officers do if they saw her in the midst of some sort of telepathic trance? No. She couldn’t do this here. She’d have to take the button. Heart pounding, her gaze flew around the summit of Shy’s Hill. Officers combed the area looking for evidence, talking amongst each other. No one was watching her. Good. She looked at the button once more. Taking evidence was a cardinal sin, not to mention a crime. But would anyone know if she took it? Of course they would. Theo was getting a bag for it right now. Would it matter if it helped her find Amy? And most of all, could she face a ghost to find out what happened to her sister? The details of the nightmare rushed back in a sickening wave. Dread filled the pit of her stomach. She squeezed her eyes shut and debated, but only for a second. Amy’s life was worth any retribution Jillian would suffer—and it was worth facing her worst fear to save her sister. It wasn’t as if she had a choice. After another quick check to see if anyone was looking, she snatched the button and pushed it into her pocket before any more of the crazy images could engulf her. One of the officers was heading her way. Jillian’s heart raced. “Hey, Captain Carter said you’d found some evidence.” He was holding a plastic bag in his hand. Jillian swallowed. “Yes. I did. But one of the other officers has already bagged it.” For a moment he looked confused. “I’m sorry,” Jillian said quickly. “I didn’t know Theo had told you too. I asked that guy over there to bag it for me.” She pointed in the general direction of several officers. He shrugged. “No biggie.” He turned to walk away and then stopped. Jillian froze. Paranoia rushed over her in unrelenting waves. “Hey, I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry about your sister. We’ll do everything we can to find her.”

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She hugged herself as some of the tension drained out of her body. “Thanks.” But she knew full well the only piece of evidence key to finding Amy was in her pants pocket.

***** With trepidation, Jillian pulled into the driveway of Amy’s house near Vanderbilt University in an eclectic neighborhood in West End Nashville. The little white billboard brandishing a bright blue palm with a black and white eyeball and faded letters reading Psychic Readings by Amaranth—Walk-ins Welcome struck Jillian as foreboding. The investigators had already combed the house but Jillian thought they might have missed something. Besides, somebody had to take care of Amy’s little black Chihuahua mix, Boo. She turned the key in the ignition and sat for a moment in the silence of her car. A quick check of her Rolex told her that her secretary should be in by now. She flipped open her cell phone and speed dialed her office. Megan answered after the second ring. “Megan, it’s Jillian.” She searched for the right words. If she told her about Amy she would want to know all the details and right now Jillian didn’t feel capable of explaining it. “I need you to cancel my appointments for this morning. Okay?” “Gotcha,” Megan’s cheery voice chimed. “Is there something going around? Lynn called in sick today too.” “No. It’s personal business.” “Okey-dokey.” “Thanks, Meg.” “No problem.” Jillian snapped her phone shut. Her gaze swept the entrance to Amy’s home. A yard gnome nestled next to a dwarf fir stared back at her from underneath his plaster beard. Let it all be some sort of misunderstanding. Let Amy be safe inside. With her office details taken care of, nothing was preventing her from going inside the house. She swallowed and pulled the keys out of the ignition. Her hands shook as she strode up the front walk, fumbling for the right key to Amy’s house. She’d rarely had to use it. Amy had given it to her just in case. Jillian felt sick. Normally this far into a case she would have had an inkling about the kidnapper by now. The sex. The age. A personality profile. But not this time. This time she didn’t have anything—except that button. With trepidation, she stared at the front door. Already, a neon-yellow ribbon of police tape was stretched across the closed red door. Jillian’s stomach churned as she reached past it to put the key in the lock. Boo bolted into her arms as soon as the door opened. Jillian clutched the little dog to her chest and hugged the only thing in the world that loved and cared about Amy as 17

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much as she did. Boo whimpered along with her as she cried into the short black hair at the nape of the animal’s neck. The dog’s company was strangely comforting in the solitude of her sister’s house. Jillian’s gaze took in the unconventional living room. The smell of dog and sandalwood incense blended to form a scent that belonged purely to Amy. This was the room where Amy did her readings. An antique wooden card table sat ominously in the center of the room. Two Samsonite folding chairs awaited Amy’s clients. Jillian shivered. It was the table Amy used to do something she called table-tipping, where spirits would answer yes or no questions by levitating the table and tapping once for yes and twice for no. She shook her head. Who would sit down at that table wanting to talk to a ghost? She half expected it to move of its own accord but it didn’t. Much-used candles of all hues and sizes covered every imaginable surface. Glimmering crystals of rose and lavender quartz sat atop the end tables. Statuettes of saints stood guard from the corners. A Celtic Cross layout of Tarot cards was spread out on the coffee table in front of Amy’s crimson velvet sofa. Jillian glanced at it. Her insides lurched when she saw the hanging man card right next to the death card. An unwelcome memory of her mother reading cards for clients intruded into her thoughts. She shook her head as if she could shake the thought away. “That’s bad, Boo.” She held the trembling little dog closer. “Those are bad cards.” But even as she uttered the words she hated that Amy’s disappearance had dragged her out of her comfort zone of scientific analysis and back into the world of psychic premonitions and—worst of all—ghosts. At eleven, after her mother’s death, she had made a decision never to delve into the supernatural. She had turned it off the way a person would turn off a faucet and in doing so, she’d severed a bond with her psychic sister she’d never been able to reestablish. “It was for the best,” she whispered and hugged Boo closer. She couldn’t risk losing someone she loved again. She couldn’t risk that terrible, terrible pain. But now it was happening again. Jillian’s world was suddenly spiraling out of control. The bronze button pressed ominously into her thigh through the pocket of her taupe trousers. And looming in her thoughts was the faded countenance of a ghost. She shivered again and fought down the knowing that those little tremors up her spine meant a spirit was near. Was it the soldier? She looked over her shoulder. The memory of the nightmare surfaced again. She exhaled sharply. “What was she doing at that Civil War site, Boo?” Jillian asked the dog as if she could answer. “What was she doing with that ghost?” And how did he tie into Amy’s disappearance? The rest of Amy’s house looked as if she were ready to walk back in at any moment. Wet clothes filled the washer. A few dirty dishes lay in the sink. Jillian sighed. Amy had 18

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intended to come home. She had not just disappeared with friends. Theo was right. She had been abducted and Jillian knew she was going to have to face down her worst fear to find her. She tried to put the thought of the ghost out of her mind and examine the relevant information already collected to establish an accurate picture of what had occurred. Amy had driven to a Civil War site. Had she gone alone? Jillian made a mental note of the questions she wanted Theo’s team to investigate. What had led Amy to Shy’s Hill? She shifted Boo to the other arm and made a quick check of the answering machine. It turned up nothing. She attempted a reconstruction of the crime in her head. Usually, answers would come to her easily. But not this time. She blew out a defeated sigh. Why was this so difficult? “Think, Jillian,” she told herself. “Think.” She rubbed the dog behind the ears. “I wish you could talk, Boo. You’d tell me what happened.” But Boo only stared with bulging little black eyes. She walked into the bedroom. The bed was unmade. A moon-and-star-printed comforter stretched half across the bed, half on the floor. The scent of lavender sheet spray hung sweet and thick in the air. Typical Amy. “Okay,” Jillian said, trying to talk through this out aloud. “Is this guy an organized offender or a disorganized offender? Did he know her? Was he one of her flaky clients? A stalker?” She put Boo down and sifted through the clothes scattered on the bedroom floor. “Does he live around here?” But although she was asking all the right questions according to her FBI Fellowship Program training, she wasn’t getting any answers. The rest of the house was absurdly normal in comparison to Amy’s disappearance. There was absolutely no evidence of foul play here. Disheartened, Jillian gathered up Boo, a bag of dog food and one of Boo’s favorite toys before she started to leave. But as she walked through the living room she noticed Amy’s Ouija board leaning temptingly against the side of the crimson sofa. She stopped and stared. With frayed edges and a faded cream-colored façade, the Ouija board didn’t look that scary. The triangular-shaped planchette sat on the gold Oriental rug next to it. Did she dare? This was ridiculous. She was a professional psychologist who did not need to resort to paranormal silliness to solve this case. But even as she debated she lowered Boo and her bundle to the wood floor, the bronze button burrowing into her thigh as she kneeled. The thought of conjuring up that Civil War ghost terrified her. Her pulse rioted. She wiped the perspiration from her palms onto her pant legs. He may have witnessed the crime. He might be able to tell her what happened to Amy. She couldn’t not try this. And then a dark thought darted through her head. What if he was responsible for Amy’s disappearance? A hideous image of her sister—bruised and beaten, discarded in some cold, godforsaken place—rose to the forefront of Jillian’s mind. No, that was silly. A ghost

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couldn’t make someone disappear. Amy needed her and she owed it to her sister to do anything to find her. Before she could talk herself out of it, she snatched the Ouija board and planchette and sat down at the card table. Like she had seen her sister do countless times when they were kids, she placed her fingers on the planchette and mentally surrounded herself with White Light. Chills skittered up her spine and down her arms. “You’re not going to need that.” Jillian froze. She could not move. She could not breathe. The ghost she had seen in her vision stood before her. Dressed in a worn and double-breasted cadet gray, thighlength frock coat, he was nearly opaque and looked as real as a flesh-and-blood man with the exception of appearing somewhat faded. Jillian gaped. The only thing separating them was the flimsy old card table and she doubted that would stop him if it occurred to him to come any closer. Her pulse pounded relentlessly. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” He came closer, his boots resounding on the wood floor. Spurs jingled with each step. Jillian’s back flattened against the chair. Her breath left her lungs in an audible rush. She had glimpsed ghosts many times before but never had one been this present, this alive. She stared. But it wasn’t because of his devastatingly rakish appearance—the roughly chiseled cheekbones, straight nose and curve of his sensual lips—it was because he looked so real…and because she felt a very odd sense of recognition. Still, the static charge of energy emanating from him left her with no doubt he was a ghost. The thought of Amy forced her out of her utter state of immobility. “Who are you?” Her voice trembled. The hint of a smile curled the thin moustache at the corner of his mouth. “You’re even prettier than the other one.” His Southern drawl was thick and languid. He squinted. “Green eyes.” One dark eyebrow arched wickedly. “Is it true that women with green eyes are more easily…enticed…than others?” His comment provoked an impulse which Jillian couldn’t identify. Was she flattered or offended? She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it. Suddenly, it was clear. He was merely a lost soul, an earthbound looking for the Light. He had no doubt come to Amy to be sent on. So that’s what she was doing on top of Shy’s Hill. Scenarios raced through Jillian’s head. Amy may have been at the wrong place at the wrong time. She may have inadvertently witnessed a drug deal. “Can you do it too?” The ghost’s comment brought her abruptly back to the moment, reminding her that she was sharing an uncomfortably small space with a dead man. “Do what?” Her voice rushed out in a hoarse whisper. His regard slid down to where her Chanel sweater opened, revealing her blue silk blouse. Her nipples instinctively tightened underneath the thin fabric of her bra. And as if he knew it, he took his time returning his gaze to hers. “Well, I have to say I was 20

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ready to go on to my great reward until I saw you.” His tone was sarcastic. His stare was not. Her mouth was dry as cotton. “I’m not like my sister.” “No, you’re not.” His tongue wet his lips. Jillian could only gape at him. No man, dead or alive, had ever spoken to her this way. And the way he looked at her—it was scalding, lewd—as if he somehow knew her intimately. Something hot and liquid spiraled from her stomach down. She blinked hard. She had to keep her focus. Somehow she had to keep both herself and this lothario of a ghost focused. She racked her brain for something to say—for something that would mean something to him. “Sir, I am a lady. I would appreciate it if you treated me as such.” She lifted her chin. Something unpleasant sparked in his dark gray eyes. “I gave up on ladies a long time ago.” Well that idea failed miserably. If this were one of her patients she would know exactly what to do, but she had no idea how to react to an earthbound spirit or how to speak to one. When they had appeared at the foot of her bed during her childhood, she had cowered under the covers. Now she had no choice but to talk to this one. “You are aware that you are…dead, aren’t you?” A throaty chuckle emanated from his chest. The sound was soft and seductive. “When no one could see or hear me, I suspected as much.” Every fiber of her being was taut. Her mind searched for words. Anything to dispel the welling terror inside her. “Why haven’t you crossed into the Light?” “Because there is no Light.” He hooked his thumbs in his leather belt. A little twinge of jealousy that Amy was so comfortable entertaining spirits passed through Jillian. She sat frozen, staring, her gaze riveted to the ghost’s. Absolutely beguiling from his unruly dark hair down to his spurred black boots, he had undoubtedly broken many a Southern belle’s heart in his day. Despite his slightly faded appearance, his features were those of a young man. His eyes, however, revealed something hard and jaded, reflecting the horrors he had no doubt witnessed during the war. It lent him a maturity beyond his years. The conflicting façade only made him that much more attractive but Jillian quickly reminded herself she was no Southern belle and he was no flesh-and-blood man. He gestured toward the chair. “Do you mind, madam?” “Please sit,” she offered, slightly disconcerted that he’d called her on her lack of manners. But even given that, she couldn’t believe she was doing this—asking a ghost to sit down and have a conversation with her. The chair slid back seemingly of its own accord to accommodate his long, lean form. He sat, his body consuming the metal chair. He folded his arms and crossed his ankles. Jillian swallowed and tamped down the eerie knowledge that the man sitting across from her was dead. But he might very well be the only witness to her sister’s disappearance. 21

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Or he might very well be the reason Amy had disappeared. She took a deep breath and steeled herself. “Did you see what happened to my sister?” His gaze raked her again in unconcealed appraisal. Jillian shrank back farther into the chair. He maintained their proximity, leaning forward slightly. His gaze remained locked with hers while his long index finger traced the faded checkerboard pattern on the table. “I find it hard to believe that little gypsy fortuneteller is your sister.” Jillian was becoming impatient. She had always hated ghosts. She hated looking at them. She hated their unpredictable behavior. And this one was no exception. He was being difficult on purpose. Still, he was her only link to finding Amy. “Please. My sister has been…abducted.” Even saying the word caused a lump to surge in her throat. “I need to find her.” His eyes softened as if some long-ago memory had surfaced. “She was releasing me when it happened. I tried to warn her. Someone struck her in the head and dragged her away.” How could he be so matter-of-fact about this? But then he added, “Madam, I apologize that I cannot be of more service to you…” Her gaze dropped to the three wreathed stars on his upright collar. A dark stain marred the shoulder of his frock coat. Blood? Had he been wounded? Is that how he died? It didn’t matter. He’d been a witness to her sister’s abduction. She returned her gaze to his. “So you saw the man who took her?” His brow furrowed. “My dear, I saw someone but the person was covered from head to toe.” Frustration drove her to strike the table with her fist. She felt helpless and she hated it. Besides, she had lifted the veil to a world she had long since turned her back on. What if these spooks started coming to her like they had when she was a scared little girl? She shuddered at the thought. And then the unthinkable happened. The ghost reached across the table and before Jillian could move, he placed his hand over hers. Her breath froze in her lungs. She was too terrified to move. Instead, she could only gape at his faded hand on her flesh. None of them had ever touched her before. She stiffened at the cool but solid energy emanating from his touch. Her gaze darted from their hands to his clouded gray eyes. He had meant it as a comforting gesture—it was anything but. “Please don’t touch me,” she blurted. The ghost stared for another agonizing heartbeat before he slowly withdrew his hand. His expression turned cool, unreadable. And then a smug smile revealed a deep dimple at the corner of his mouth. “Madam, you act as if this is the first time we have ever touched.” Jillian sucked in a breath. Heat infused her cheeks. Her wanton behavior in her dreams reared up in her mind and it was suddenly filled with blatant sexual images and sounds—and sensations. He sneered. “Don’t you remember?” 22

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She temporarily forgot her fear of ghosts. “How dare you speak to me that way.” “What way?” “You know very well what way! My sister has been taken. She might be dead…” “There are worse things.” “You don’t mean that.” He laughed without mirth. “I, of all people, most certainly do mean it.” “If you think that, then you’ve never lost someone close to you. How can you be so callous?” Tears burned the corners of Jillian’s eyes but she would not cry in front of this insufferable spook. She would not. Her fists clenched in her lap. Anger momentarily allowed her to forget how much she feared ghosts. She burned a stare into him, silently willing him to go to hell. An expression of remorse crossed his handsome face. “Don’t look at me like that.” For the first time since he had appeared to her, she dared to close her eyes. She could not bear to look at him any longer. He wasn’t being of any help in finding Amy and besides, he represented everything she loathed. She trembled at the intruding memories of the pleading ghosts that haunted her childhood—of her mother’s spirit. And then there were the shadow beings… A tremor shook her to the core. Her eyes flew open. “Just go away.” “I can’t.” “Why not?” His gaze dropped to where the button was outlined in the thin fabric against her thigh. “Because I’m attached to the button. And you, madam, are in possession of the button.” Jillian did not miss the unspoken implication evident in his lingering gaze. Her stomach tightened. Her hand instinctively covered the button. Hot fury welled inside her at his lurid audacity. This was a waste of precious time. Every second should be devoted to profiling the person who took Amy. Not keeping some obnoxious ghoul amused with her distress. She plunged her hand into her pocket and seized the button. “We’ll see about that,” she said and started toward the kitchen where Amy’s trash can awaited. She got as far as the hallway before she slammed into the solid wall of the ghost’s chest. Jillian retreated. Her heart raced. The ghost pursued and seized her hand in his before she could throw the damned button across the hall. She wanted to scream but she wasn’t capable of uttering a sound. Every muscle in her body tightened until she thought she would explode. God, he was so close—and so solid! She was shocked at how utterly unyielding he was. She twisted against him. “Wait,” he said. “Jillian, stop this. Stop. I won’t hurt you.” Her back flattened against the wall and he was against her from head to toe, his hand firmly secured around her fist, one of his knees between hers, his broad shoulders 23

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preventing her from escape. Contact with the full length of his body sent shivers down her spine. She thrashed wildly but his other hand caught her chin and held her still. The scent of well-worn wool mingled with the woody redolence of fallen leaves and earth filled her nostrils. Terror rendered her incoherent. All she could do was stand perfectly still and retreat to someplace within. “Jillian,” he said again. His voice was quiet but commanding, drawing her back out, making her all too aware of his rock-solid proximity. She dared to look into his eyes. It was a mistake. Fear of what he might do next engulfed her. His touch was intense but ethereal, more of a firmly concentrated energy than an actual physical contact. Adrenaline set her whole body on fire. She was sweating. Somehow, she had to free herself but his hold on her was too strong, too intense. “I would never hurt you,” he reiterated. Some sort of whimper escaped her lips. “Let me go.” “Promise me you’ll keep the button.” She merely shook her head. Instinct told her to fight, to flee, but fear rendered her immobile. “Jillian, promise me. Promise me and I will help you find your sister.” “You can’t help me. You’re dead.” Even uttering the words caused the panic to rise once again. She knew her horror was obvious to him. His steely gaze pierced hers, searching. She looked away. He expelled a breath which she actually felt on her cheeks. “I need you, Jillian.” Her gaze slammed into his once more. She stared. “Your sister needs you.” He brought the fist that still clasped the button up to his chest. His voice was insistent, almost pleading. “Your sister understood something about this button that I do not. She understood why it has held me here all these years.” “What does that have to do with me?” Her voice rose with hysteria. His hand smoothed back the hair at her temple. It was a caress which was incongruously gentle in comparison to the vise grip around her wrist. “You’re more like her than you know.” Jillian felt sick. Her knees would have buckled if he had not been holding her up. He went on, his drawl thick and sweet. “You cannot imagine what my existence is like.” “I don’t want to.” Why wouldn’t he let her go? A self-deprecating smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I would never presume to weary you with the details of it but there are things I can see that I could not when I was living. Things I can hear. And there is a…a power…around you, a glow. I’m not certain of its significance but it’s the same as your sister’s.” “You’re wrong.”

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His gaze scanned something above her head. She’d heard her sister discuss auras but she’d never seen one herself. Is that what he saw? He leaned in even closer, his face only inches from her own. “No, Jillian. It is the same. I see it. And you two are apparently the only ones who can see or hear me.” His fingers trailed down her neck. Her heart skipped a beat. This time, it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that he was the ghost of a man who’d been dead for one hundred and fifty years. She chanced a glance into his eyes. “I can also see that whoever attacked your sister—intends to kill you too.” Jillian froze. Her confused mind tried to comprehend what he was saying. “You’re lying.” “I have no reason to lie to you.” His voice was but a whisper. Who would want her dead? And he’d used the word too. Did that mean Amy was already dead? “How can you see that?” His eyes darkened. He was grim. “I see shadows around you. Dark things with red eyes. Bad things.” Jillian swallowed. The evil beings from her nightmare surfaced in her mind. “You’ve seen them too, haven’t you?” Impatience set her nerves on fire. “Yes. Yes, I’ve seen them.” He drew in a slow soft breath. “I couldn’t save your sister from harm but I can keep you safe from the soul collectors—if you will allow it.” Her lips parted to ask him what a soul collector was but he silenced her with a finger to her mouth. “Will you?” His own masculine taste fused with the metallic tang of gunpowder. She nodded uncertainly. “Close your eyes.” His drawl was low but Jillian could not mistake the implied command. Her lashes fluttered to her cheeks. “Do you see your sister?” His lips brushed her ear. Jillian sucked in a breath. Her whole body tensed. “No.” “Look harder.” She squeezed her eyelids tighter and tried to forget the too-intimate proximity of this ghost. Was he telling her she could see her sister? That she could find her this way? She knew it was possible. And then like a movie playing in her head, she saw her.

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Chapter Three Duct tape covered Amy’s mouth. Her arms were bound behind her back. Her honey blonde hair was strewn across her tearstained face. Jillian’s perception panned back. Damp, dark earth. An air tube. A cemetery. Amy had been buried alive! A whimper escaped Jillian’s throat. Something above her caught her attention. The shadow beings. They were coming for her. And she knew they came because she had opened up to their world. They would always come. Every time she attempted to use her psychic ability they would come. She screamed and suddenly, the ghost was there in front of her, fighting them, driving them away… Jillian’s eyes snapped open and her gaze slammed into the ghost’s. She was trembling. The crazy images were still swirling in her head, the foremost, the ghost fighting the creatures to protect her. “Where’s your sister?” he asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. “She’s been buried alive.” But as she searched the ghost’s gray eyes her thoughts were still fixed on how he’d fought off the things he’d called soul collectors. He was her only hope in finding Amy. She had to have his protection in order to use her ability. “I’ve got to find her. I’ve got to find her now. Can you help me?” Something bleak and hopeless sparked in his gaze but he gave her a nod. “And then will you help me?” Jillian searched his eyes. Something sincere lurked in the dove gray depths. He could help her. He would help her. She inhaled. She had to do this. She had to use her psychic ability to find her sister. She was certain of it now. She didn’t know how she knew. It was just a feeling. A knowing. It was something she had not felt since she’d turned her back on her ability. It was a psychic hit. But how could she ever muster the strength to do it? To reenter the netherworld where the line between the dead and the living was indistinguishable? And although she was certain the ghost would keep the evil beings at bay while she used her ability to find her sister, she turned her head away from him and shut her eyes tightly. “I’ll help you find the Light. Just let me go. Please.” The sudden absence of his unyielding body against hers left her with a strange indefinable feeling inside. Stunned, she sank down the wall until her backside found the carpeted floor. Something touched her hand and she jolted, only to discover it was Boo’s little black wet nose. Still clutching the bronze button, she gathered the dog into her arms and squeezed her.

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She had to remain coherent. This could all be solved logically. But the ghost’s gray gaze and lazy drawl lingered in the forefront of her mind. She had seen what had happened to Amy. But the ghost had seen something in Jillian’s own aura. A warning. She opened her palm and stared at the button. What was it about the thing that tied the ghost to it? What had Amy known? And how was the ghost linked to her disappearance? Every second was crucial. She had to get up. She had to shake off her fear of ghosts and call him back. And she had to accept her repressed psychic ability. Not only was Amy’s life at stake, hers was as well. Clutching Boo, she pushed herself up and dropped the button back into her pocket. On shaky legs, she rushed toward the front door. When she flung it open, a scream tore from her throat. There, fixed to the red paint with silver duct tape, was a hank of Amy’s long blonde hair.

***** Jillian still had not put Boo down when Theo wheeled his blue and white police cruiser into Amy’s driveway. Breathless, she met him as he opened his car door. “There, on the front door…” She swiped at tears with her free hand. “Amy’s hair. Oh God, Theo. I was in the house when…” Theo enveloped her in a one-armed hug while his gaze scanned the area. “The others are on their way. We’re going to dust the area for prints. This may be a good thing, Jillian. This time, he may have left us a clue.” Jillian sniffed. She had to pull herself together but the horrifying sight of her sister’s hair taped to the door after her creepy encounter with the ghost had left her in a state of shock. A cold, drizzling rain had started to fall but Jillian had not gone back inside the house. Her clothes were drenched. Her crocodile shoes were scratched and muddy. Boo trembled in her arms. “Come inside,” Theo coaxed. Shaking, Jillian allowed him to lead her back into the house. She deliberately kept her gaze away from the lock of hair but then the sight of the Ouija board and card table sparked new horrors in her as he guided her to the crimson velvet sofa. Boo jumped down and darted into the kitchen. “I think she’s been buried alive. Why would someone do this?” she asked. “Why would someone take Amy?” Her gaze searched Theo’s. “What makes you think that?” Jillian froze. She couldn’t tell Theo what happened. He’d never believe her. “I don’t know. I just do. I think she’s in a cemetery. There’s an air tube…”

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He sighed. “Jillian, it was a mistake to call you in on this case.” Jillian racked her brain. She had to stay close. She had to stay involved. Theo couldn’t take her off. She was panicking and on the verge of being out of control. Breathe. Breathe. “What if we bring my partner in?” “Lynn?” Jillian nodded. Lynn Bowers would be close enough to keep her informed but distanced enough to profile the perp. Theo appeared to be thinking it over. Some semblance of composure returned. She took another large gulp of air and blew it out slowly. He scratched his bald head. “I don’t know, Jill. She’s never worked with us before.” “That doesn’t mean she’s not qualified,” she argued. “I don’t know. Howard Walters is our backup guy.” She was at the end of her rope. She had to confess about encountering the ghost. “Theo, I can do this. I have information that might help. And I’m comfortable with Lynn.” She continued, forcing herself to slow down, to sound like the professional she was. “I have a witness to Amy’s abduction.” Deep furrows creased his brow. “A witness?” She nodded. “Yes. He’s not a…conventional witness. But he did see what happened.” Theo looked skeptical. Jillian produced the button from her pocket. His mouth fell open. “That’s evidence.” He pointed at the button. “Jillian, tell me you did not take evidence from a crime scene!” She stammered. “I…I… You don’t understand.” His hands found his hips. “I can’t believe this! Why would you hinder an investigation by taking evidence? You know better than this.” He glanced out the gauzy drapes, watching as police cars began pulling up. “Did anyone else see you take this?” She shook her head. “No. Wait. Let me explain.” His eyes got big. “You better start fast.” “I think this button may have belonged to a Civil War soldier. Amy was…well…” This was going to sound ridiculous and Jillian knew it. “She was sending him to the Light. It’s a thing she does and—” “I know what it is. I’ve seen Ghost Whisperer.” His tone was derisive. “When I was looking at the evidence earlier, I picked up this button and all these crazy images started coming to me. It was like I was inside Amy’s body.” Theo’s raised eyebrow sparked desperation. Jillian jabbered on, her words fast and clipped. “I could see her hands. Her clothes. It was her, Theo. I know it. And I…I could see a man. A Civil War soldier. And…”

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Theo looked as if he were trying to absorb it. “Are you telling me some kook dressed up like a soldier kidnapped your sister?” “No. No. The soldier was…is…a ghost.” Theo stared. Jillian’s fingernails dug into the velvet. “He witnessed the abduction. He told me.” “He told you?” “I know how crazy this sounds. But you, yourself, told me I had a sixth sense. Well it’s true. I do. I just…I just haven’t…used it in a long, long time. I’m not comfortable with it the way Amy is. But I did see Amy. She’s buried somewhere…” Theo snorted. “I said you were a good profiler. I didn’t mean for you to go goofy on me.” “Please. You of all people have got to believe me. I talked to the ghost. Right here. Right there at that table.” She pointed. He shot a wary glance at the Ouija board. “With that thing?” He pointed at it. Jillian shook her head. “No. He was here. He sat in that chair and told me what he had seen.” “A Civil War soldier?” He was clearly skeptical. She stood and paced, her heels sounding on the wood floor. “I know it’s crazy. I know it is.” She looked at the button in her hand. “He told me he saw someone hit Amy on the head and drag her away. He told me he tried to warn her. And then I…I saw her myself—well, in my head—in a grave. The ghost said he’d help me find her.” “This ghost told you that?” She nodded. “Where is he now?” He looked around. “I don’t know.” God, he thought she was crazy. And the more Jillian talked, the crazier it sounded to her. Theo took a deep breath and then blew it out slowly. “Do you want to know what I think? I think I made a mistake in calling you. I think the strain of this is too much for you. And I think if it were anybody but me, Jillian Drew, the finger would start pointing to you.” “Me?” Jillian was incredulous. “Yes. I mean, look at the facts. First you stole evidence from a crime scene. And then while you’re the only person in this house, in broad daylight someone waltzes up to the front door and tapes a big mess of your sister’s hair to it. It doesn’t look good.” Jillian opened her mouth and then closed it. She couldn’t think of anything to say. Theo knew her better than that. Her mind fumbled for something—anything—to make him believe her. The idea of Amy in a grave was unthinkable. Outside, an entourage of police cars lined the driveway.

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“Give me that button before someone else sees you with it and charges you with a crime.” He snatched it out of her hand before she could protest. She gasped. “Theo, I need that.” He shook his head. “I have to turn it over to the crime lab.” He drew a plastic bag out of his pocket and slipped it inside. “Not a word about this to anyone. Understand?” She took a breath, intent on objecting but he cut her off. “You’ve already contaminated evidence that could be the key to finding your sister. Now pull yourself together and go home. We’ll call you.” “But…” She watched with utter gut-wrenching dismay as the one thing connecting her to Amy disappeared inside Theo’s pants pocket. She grasped his arm. His gaze fell to her hand and then lifted once more to her eyes. “Theo, promise me you’ll consider asking Lynn to profile.” “All right.” He gave her a paternal look and then joined the others. “Now, go home.” Investigators filed in and began scouring Amy’s house for evidence. One studied the sidewalk out front. Another dusted the door for prints. Others searched the house. Jillian sank back down on the sofa. At least Theo was going to consider bringing her partner in on the case. But what was she going to do without the button? How could she contact the spirit again without it? She’d been stupid to show it to him. Stupid! She inhaled. There was only one thing to do now. She had to get it back. She had to talk to that ghost again.

***** Jillian found a Civil War relic shop in nearby Franklin. A bell rang when she opened the door. “Come on in,” a voice called from behind the counter. Long wooden muskets and rifles with rusty bayonets lined one wall. Tarnished swords lined another. Her ghost had worn a sheathed sword around his waist. Tingles skittered down her spine at the memory of him, so close, touching her. She inhaled. Never in her life had she been so terrified. And she would never revisit the experience but for the fact her sister’s life was in jeopardy. One glass case was filled with carte de visite photographs, tintypes and daguerreotypes. Jillian scanned them. Many of the men depicted in the photos had the same style of moustache and spade beard as her ghost but as she guessed, none of the photos were actually of him. Boo curiously poked her little black head out of Jillian’s brown leather Fendi bag. Dusty old books crowded a shelf near the counter. Heavy, weathered old cannon balls rested on the floor. The whole place smelled old, like a quaint mixture of cedar wood and lemon oil. “Excuse me?” Jillian said, craning in an attempt to see the man behind the counter.

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He stood and laid a well-thumbed biography of Pat Cleburne on the counter. Slightly disheveled, with a gray crew cut, unkempt Vandyke beard and wearing a tattered Radiohead concert T-shirt, he looked out of place in a Civil War relic shop. One of his eyes had been blacked and was shadowed with an angry purple bruise. He looked like a thug. But the fact was not lost on Jillian that she looked even more out of place here. “Can I help you?” At least he was friendly. “I’m looking for a button.” She made a circle with her thumb and forefinger. “About this big around with the letters CSA on it.” “Do you want dug or non-dug?” Jillian bit her bottom lip. “I’m not sure.” “Dug means it was dug up. Out of the ground. Most likely from a battlefield site. Non-dug means it was passed down—or robbed from a grave.” He winked with his good eye. “Those are usually in better condition.” Robbed from a grave? People actually did that? Jillian shuddered and an ugly image of Amy bound and unconscious intruded into her head. She pushed it away. “I think I’m looking for a dug button.” “That’ll save you some cash.” He reached under the counter and pulled out a box. Inside, several gilt buttons were displayed on a red velvet cloth. “Most of these were dug right here in Franklin,” he said proudly. Although he had gray hair, he had the enthusiasm of a teenage boy about him. Jillian searched the box for one like she’d found mixed among the contents of Amy’s purse. There were several. She pointed at one which most resembled the one Theo had taken. “What about that one?” “These are running around four hundred fifty bucks but I can give you ten percent off if you pay cash.” She hadn’t thought of that. It would be prudent to pay in cash so there wouldn’t be a paper trail. All she had was her debit card but she didn’t have time to run to the bank. She couldn’t believe she was considering doing something illegal. But exchanging this button for Amy’s was the only way she could get back in contact with the ghost. “I only have a debit card.” She fished it out of her brown leather wallet and handed it to him. “That’ll work.” He swiped the card, returned it and began drawing up a handwritten receipt. “What’s your interest in the war between the states?” She started to tell him that she hadn’t been much of a history student but then thought he might be of help in finding her ghost’s identity. “I…I was at Shy’s Hill earlier.” “Oh yeah.” The guy’s eyes lit up, giving the black eye an odd, macabre glow. “Battle of Nashville. December 16, 1864.” “You’re a Civil War buff?” She slipped the debit card back into her wallet.

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He scowled. “I’m no buff. I’m Matt Gregory. I’m a military historian.” “Great,” Jillian said and deposited her cumbersome bag on the countertop. “Jillian Drew.” She shook his hand—then instantly regretted telling him her real name. “Who’s your buddy?” he asked, giving Boo a pat on the head. “That’s Boo,” she said shortly. There was no time to explain. “I’m trying to find out information about an officer.” “An officer? What’s his name?” “I don’t know.” “An officer wouldn’t have worn buttons like this one.” He pointed to the one with CSA on it. “No?” That didn’t make sense. Why was her ghost attached to it then? “Maybe he isn’t an officer. He has three stars on his collar.” “Wreathed?” Jillian tried to remember. She closed her eyes and an image of the surly soldier flooded her thoughts. She focused on the stars. “Wreathed. Yes, they were wreathed and the one in the center was somewhat larger.” “He’s a brigadier.” “A general?” Matt nodded. “But he looks so young,” she unintentionally mused aloud. Matt studied her for a moment. “You keep talking about this guy in the present tense. It’s like you saw his ghost or something.” Jillian debated her reply but the man continued. “That’s cool,” he said. “I’ve seen a few myself over at the Carnton Plantation.” “Really?” He nodded. Something in his light blue eyes told her he was sincere. But before she could comment, he turned and pulled a book down from the shelf. “If you’ve been to Shy’s Hill, I may have a picture of your guy.” He flipped through the pages. “Here. Look at this.” He laid the book on the counter, spun it around and pushed it toward her. Jillian gasped. Staring up at her from the yellowed page of the book was her ghost in grainy black and white. The same dark, wavy hair. The same moustache and spade beard. But gone was the rough-hewn look of a soldier. Instead, he was posed and very polished. Even without smiling he looked cocky, smug. The memory of his fingers trailing down her neck gave her a shiver. And the sight of him—real, alive—in a photograph made her go weak in the knees. “That him?” Unable to speak, she nodded. He was as handsome in the photograph as he had been as a ghost, almost timeless in his attractiveness but with all the romantic appeal of 32

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a nineteenth-century-novel hero. Something warm and sinuous unfurled inside her. Uncomfortable with the feelings the sight of him evoked, Jillian shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “That’s old Thomas Benton Smith.” Her gaze briefly left the page and she looked into Matt’s eyes before returning her stare to the photograph. Her ghost was hardly old but the name was familiar. Where had she heard it before? “Thomas Benton Smith.” Just uttering it caused a warm blush to creep up the front of her neck. “Folks who knew him called him Benton,” Matt said. “Hence, Benton Smith Road. You had to have driven on it if you went to Shy’s Hill.” That’s right. She remembered now. She touched the photo. “Benton Smith.” The heat of the blush intensified. “He was killed there.” A shudder swept through Jillian. She recalled the bloodstain on his shoulder “How?” “The Confederates got surrounded and Smith assessed the situation as hopeless. He surrendered but not before an assload of Union soldiers died trying to take the hill. After that, they were marched down the hill and one of his men made a smart-alecky comment to a Federal colonel that the whole hill was blue with Yankee dead. Smith had already handed over his sword to the colonel and when he got in between his man and the colonel, the colonel killed him with his own sword.” She swallowed. A sense of pity welled inside her. “Did he stab him in the shoulder?” “No. The head.” Then Matt’s eyes narrowed. “But how do you know about the shoulder?” She touched her own shoulder where Benton’s jacket had been discolored. “There was a dark stain on his coat.” “That makes sense.” Matt’s eyes widened with interest. “He took that wound at the Battle of Stone’s River—where his brother was killed.” Jillian’s heart tightened. She knew all too well what it felt like to lose a loved one. “So, you saw Benton Smith’s ghost, ’eh?” Matt chuckled. “I can tell you why he appeared to someone like you.” Jillian was beyond curious. “Why?” Matt squinted at the photo again. “Benton Smith had a reputation as quite the ladies’ man.” She smirked. He’d told her he had given up on ladies. She ignored a nagging twinge of resentment. So she was right in her assessment that he’d broken many a Southern belle’s heart. “Oh yeah,” Matt continued. “There were several women after him but the story goes that he got himself engaged to a Williamson County woman by the name of Hattie. 33

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But after his brother died, he mysteriously broke off the engagement. She got all pissed and married a private under Smith.” He scratched his salt-and-pepper beard. “Nobody knows for sure why he dumped her. Rumor has it she married the man just to spite Smith. But I know another historian who says it was because she had a premonition of Smith’s death.” “Was she…psychic?” Matt arched an eyebrow as if that thought had never occurred to him and fascinated him as some new historic theory he might ferret out in the future. “I don’t know about that.” Jillian’s mind ran rampant with unanswerable questions. Why was Amy the first person who had seen him in all that time? Why could she, Jillian, see him? And if that button didn’t belong to him, why was he attached to it? “By the way, he was a local. Lived over in Triune. The house is still standing but I don’t know if anyone lives in it or not.” Jillian’s eyes widened. “And they’ve got his sword over at the Sam Davis museum in Smyrna.” “Is it on display?” Matt nodded. “If you’d like, I could make a phone call and see if they’d let you hold it. I know the museum director there.” “That’s not necessary but thanks anyway.” He passed her the receipt and the boxed button. “One more thing. The private’s life he died saving was the man Smith’s former fiancée married. Her family still lives around here somewhere. I forget the last name but it’s in this bio.” She slipped her purchase into her purse alongside Boo. “How much is that book?” “This book’s not for sale. It’s my only copy and I had to five-finger discount it from a rare book store if you know what I mean. It’s out of print,” he said boldly. “Have you got a copier?”

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Chapter Four Jillian’s cell phone rang before she could get back in the car. She tossed the copied and stapled pages of Benton’s bio on the seat and dug behind the dog to retrieve her phone. One glance at the caller ID told her it was Theo. She flipped it open and answered it. “Jillian, get down here immediately. We’ve gotten contact from the perp.” Nashville’s midday traffic clogged up the Interstate but Jillian weaved the silver Jaguar in and out of the three lanes, heedless of the driving rain, zipping expertly around Mack trucks and blue-haired old ladies. She took the Church Street exit, turned onto James Robertson and was at the Metro Nashville Police Department in record time. As she rushed past the investigators’ offices, she noticed her partner, Lynn Bowers, sitting across a desk from three officers. Relief flooded her. Although she and Lynn were not what one would call friends, they’d known each other on a professional basis for more than three years. Lynn was the type of woman who took up all the space in a room, but she was personable and pulled her weight with a huge number of clients. With her bright blonde hair and fire-engine red sweater, she couldn’t help but be noticed. Jillian waved to her as she passed by the window. Lynn smiled and returned the wave as she took a sip of a diet shake. So she was on a diet again. It would be no fun at the office until this attempt fell by the wayside and Lynn went back to her habit of stopping by the doughnut shop on her way to work. Jillian had never been much for sweets but she loved a fresh, hot doughnut. She sighed her relief. Theo hadn’t wasted any time in bringing her in on the case. At least he hadn’t consulted Howard. Jillian was breathless by the time she reached Theo’s office. He sat behind his desk looking grim. “Close the door.” Jillian’s heart sank. She’d seen him with that look before—right before he told a family their son, daughter, father, brother had been found murdered. She pushed the door closed. “Sit down.” He took a deep breath. Boo looked up at her from the Fendi bag as she lowered it to the floor. Numb, she pulled up a utilitarian wood and faux-leather chair and took a seat across from Theo. “What happened to Amy? Be straight with me.” Her voice rose with panic. Oh God. Oh God. No. Not Amy. She was the only blood relative Jillian had left in the world. She couldn’t stand to lose her too. “Jillian, you’re the one who needs to be straight with me.” “I told you why I took the button.” 35

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“I’m not talking about that.” He leaned forward. “How did you know she’d been buried alive?” Jillian’s lips parted. Oh no… Her stomach knotted as Theo fanned several eight-by-ten photos out and pushed them toward her. Jillian stood to get a better view but her knees buckled when she saw the pictures. She brought trembling fingers to her lips and collapsed into her chair. A wave of nausea swelled over her but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the gruesome sight of her sister…terrified, roped and tied like an animal, gagged with duct tape—and lying in an open grave. Other photos showed a closed coffin partially covered with dirt, then one where it was completely covered and one of the protruding air tube Jillian had seen in her psychic vision. But then there was something she hadn’t seen in her vision—a frayed paperback copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s Premature Burial. Jillian felt faint. That book had terrified Amy when they were little. Who would have known that? And who would have known Jillian’s own worst fear—ghosts? She bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying but hot tears stung her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. How long had Amy been in that grave? Jillian could not imagine the terror of it—of knowing you were buried alive, trapped with layers of earth above you. “Where is she?” Dead? Had they already found a body? “I asked you to tell me how you knew she was buried.” His voice was hard. Her gaze searched his. Surely he wasn’t suggesting that she had anything to do with Amy’s disappearance. “Theo…I told you. I… Dammit, is she still alive? We’ve got to find her. She’s in a cemetery. That’s what I saw.” He shot to his feet and leaned over the desk. His massive frame blocked the light from the window behind him. Jillian gasped and shrank back in her chair. “I can’t buy your explanation! And neither will a jury.” A second lapsed that felt like an eternity. Jillian stared, stunned. Realization crept up from her toes. “Are you…are you insinuating that I did this to Amy?” He rubbed his face and then his brown gaze met hers. Indecision contorted his expression into one of pain. “Jillian, Lynn Bowers is out there right now profiling the suspect and do you want to know what she’s come up with so far?” Jillian’s mouth opened in shock. “Surely she’s not naming me.” “No. But this is her preliminary sketch of the perpetrator.” He passed a sheet of paper across the desk. With trembling hands, Jillian picked it up. She recognized Lynn’s handwriting immediately. Theo practically quoted as she read silently. “Upper to middle class organized offender. Could be either sex. Someone with higher education. Someone who knew 36

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Amy’s schedule. Someone with a deep-seated psychopathic vendetta. Probably someone close to Amy Drew.” Anger welled inside Jillian. Her heart pumped frantically. She shook the paper at Theo. “I respect Lynn Bowers as a counselor but this is no way fingers me as a suspect!” She leaned forward, the paper crumpling where she clutched it. “If I might add a few items to her list, we need to take into account victimology. What about Amy’s work background? You saw that sign with the eyeball on it in her yard. She does readings for a good many people and if you think I’m crazy for having one psychic vision, you should see some of her clients. Every one of them is desperate. Desperate for money or love or to connect with someone who died.” “Jillian, I’m not saying—” She cut him off. “And you have to consider the size a person would have to be in order to commit such a crime.” She lunged to her feet and seized a photo of Amy in the grave. She knew she was over the top, even hysterical, but she couldn’t stop herself. She thrust the photo toward Theo. “Look at me. I’m five foot six. I weigh one hundred twenty pounds. Why would I hit Amy over the head at a Civil War site when I could easily lure her to wherever I wanted? I could never dig a grave much less push a grown woman into one and cover her back up in time to be home the next morning to receive your phone call.” Theo stared, his mouth agape. “Whoever did this is a sick, twisted, maniacal psychopath.” Jillian sucked in a ragged breath and fought back hot tears. “Besides…I love my sister. I will do anything to find her!” “Including taking evidence from a crime scene.” This time his voice was without condemnation. “Yes.” She sank back into the chair. “I need that button. I need it to find my sister.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you that you can take evidence.” Jillian’s heart sank. Her mind raced. She’d been foolish to buy that other button with the intent of making a clandestine exchange. Foolish! Besides, the case file had probably already been sent down to the crime lab. Still, there was something in Theo’s brown eyes that sparked a glimmer of hope in Jillian. “It’s already contaminated evidence. The crime lab won’t be able to get any prints from it.” He blew out a sigh. “Jillian…” Good. She was wearing him down. “Could I at least hold it?” “Do you really think it’ll help?” “I know it will.” “I wouldn’t do this for anybody else.” He patted her on the shoulder as he passed her on the way out the door.

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Jillian watched through the glass until he was out of sight before she fumbled in her purse for the button she’d bought. Boo danced around her hand. Her heart thundered relentlessly against her rib cage. Jillian held her breath as she slid the cold bronze button under the cuff of her sweater, a little pang of guilt nagging her. Theo was sticking his neck out for her in more ways than one and she was betraying his trust. She had to remind herself to breathe. This was crazy. If he caught her trying to sleight of hand him he’d have her in cuffs answering questions for the investigators. And rightfully so. But then her gaze caught the pictures fanned across Theo’s desk. In the weird photo flash, Amy’s blue eyes shone red. Her long blonde hair was a tangled mass, strewn across her face. Jillian shut her eyes but the image was unrelenting. She shuddered violently. She didn’t have a choice. She had to swap the buttons. She needed it to find her sister. Where was Theo with that damned button? She twisted in her seat and looked through the glass window. He had a small brown box under one arm. Thank God. He hadn’t changed his mind. But he was talking to Lynn Bowers. Lynn turned and glanced at her. Jillian tensed. Were they discussing her? She wished she could hear them through the glass. Theo brought the box front and center and gave it a little shake. Lynn’s gaze drifted to it and then back up to Theo’s. Jillian tried to remain calm. He’s telling her about the button! She blew out an exasperated breath. How was Lynn ever going to view her as a professional again if Theo was out there telling her about a button and the ghost of a dead Civil War soldier? Jillian’s nails burrowed into the fake leather armrests. And then, Theo actually opened the box. Lynn lifted the bagged button out and looked at it before dropping it back in and giving Theo a shrug. Jillian struggled to remain composed. She stared until Theo turned and started back toward her. She would explain everything to Lynn—later. Right now she had to muster up the courage to sit here, boldly steal evidence right under a police officer’s nose and summon up a ghost so she could tap into her psychic senses to find her sister. And she had to do it in front of Theo and the whole police department. Finally, Theo returned and put the box on the desk in front of her. Her gaze met his briefly and then she looked warily at the evidence case. A white label reading Metro Nashville PD with a handwritten case number was stuck to the outside. She took a deep breath. Could she face that ghost again? More importantly, could she do it in front of Theo and exchange the buttons at the same time?

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The ghost’s image filled her thoughts. Dark. Intense. And the way he had spoken to her with his steely, blunt regard. The way he had touched her, pinning her to the wall with his long, lean body… A tingle traversed her spine. And what about the soul collectors? Jillian swallowed. Could she openly challenge the very creatures that had haunted her nightmares? She shivered at the thought of the red eyes, the dark shadows… Could they touch her too? The bronze button lay taped and labeled in a plastic bag, on top of the individually bagged contents of Amy’s purse. Before she could change her mind she broke the seal on the plastic bag and, with trembling fingers, withdrew the button. Tense and anxiously aware of the other button pressed precariously against her wrist, she wondered how she was ever going to make the exchange without Theo noticing. “Are you…getting…anything?” She shook her head. And then, she was jolted out of her world and into theirs. Where was she? Rain was falling all around but she was impervious to it. “Jillian, help me!” It was Amy’s voice. Faint and far away. “Where are you, Amy? Show me where you are.” Tombstones materialized out of the misty haze. Mausoleums loomed cold and gray in the distance. A cemetery. But where? Her gaze darted around. Everywhere there were ghosts, pale and frightening with their vacant stares and expressionless mouths. A charge of lightning rent the air with a loud, spiraling clap. Jillian gasped. The air crackled and hissed but not from any lightning. Weaving fast through the gravestones were the shadowy figures, eyes glowing red, coming straight for her. Terror rendered her immobile. Pure malevolence emanated from the beings. Her heart beat violently against her chest. She wrenched her gaze away from the beings and searched the graveyard. Where was he? Where was the ghost? He’d told her he would help her! A swarm of soul collectors descended on her. Scratching, clawing, hissing. Something swiped her face, hard. She cried out and shielded her head with her hands. Sharp claws dug into her leg—and then as quickly as they had come, they were gone. Jillian looked and the ghost was there, salient against the stormy sky, bathed in an eerie silvery light. His dark hair whipped against his sculpted cheekbones in the vicious wind. Something fierce shone in his narrowed eyes. He lunged at the soul collectors, dragging them off her, fighting them like a wild animal, fading in and out in the flares of wild lightning. “Look, Jillian! Turn and look!” His voice was strained. Could they hurt him too? Part of her couldn’t tear her gaze away from him fighting the beings but she had to. She had to see what he was trying to show her. She whirled around. An obelisk rose against the tumultuous sky, white against the blue-black clouds. A marble soldier stood sentinel at the top… “Jillian!” Her eyes snapped open. Theo stared open-mouthed, his brown eyes wide.

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“What happened to you? Geez!” He gaped at her forehead where the shadow spirits had taken a swipe at her. Trembling, she forced herself out of her utter state of immobility and brought her fingers to her head. It was wet with blood. The soul collectors… But that didn’t matter. She’d seen something. Something that could help find her sister. “Amy…she’s in a cemetery. And there’s a monument there. One with a soldier on top.” Her voice was ragged. Her mind raced furiously. Benton. Did those things hurt Benton? “What else?” Theo’s voice brought her back. “Jillian, what else?” “A mausoleum.” She closed her eyes and tried to picture the cemetery. Images of the soul collectors assailed her. A shiver shook her shoulders. “The monument.” That was the important thing. “Yes. Something about the monument with a soldier on top.” Benton… “A Civil War soldier?” Realization flooded her in a wave. “Yes. A Civil War soldier. It was surrounded by a circle of granite grave markers. The kind that are flush with the ground.” Theo began typing furiously on his laptop. He spun it around. “Is this the place?” Jillian stared at the obelisk—the same obelisk she had seen in her vision. “Yes. Yes! That’s it!” He snatched up the phone. “Dispatch? Theo Carter. Send anyone in the area of Mt. Olivet Cemetery to the Confederate Circle. Send an ambulance and the rescue response team. And do it now.” He looked hard at Jillian. “Girl, you better be right about this.” He started around the desk but then stopped. “Oh. I need that button back.” Still in a state of shock, she handed it to him. “Thank you, Theo.” “Come on. Let’s go find your sister.” He darted out the door. Shaky, Jillian reached for her purse, dropping the original button into it alongside Boo as she did so. Stealing it had been easier than she would have thought, given the circumstances.

***** Jillian gunned the Jag, passing the Metro Nashville police cars and easily leaving them well behind her as she sped toward Mt. Olivet Cemetery. She glanced at the GPS screen just below her dash. It wasn’t far. Her stomach clenched as she turned into the main gate. The narrow road was steep and winding. Although her windshield wipers slashed at the rain, a wet, gray sheet of water hindered her vision. Lightning rent the air, quickly followed by a loud crash of thunder. “Oh God,” Jillian said under her breath. The rain would be flooding the breathing tube and now that dusk came earlier and earlier, it would be dark soon.

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As the wipers raked away the driving rain, the obelisk came into view. Jillian’s heart raced. Her sister was here. She knew it. She just prayed Amy was still alive. Jillian stopped the car and snatched the button out of her purse. Boo’s black head poked up. There was something expectant in her round, dark eyes. Jillian gave the dog a reassuring rub to the head. “You have to wait here.” She swallowed against the lump in her throat. What if Amy was dead? How would it feel to know her sister was gone? An ugly image of the interior of a funeral home with a coffin and flower arrangements rose up hard in her mind. Jillian squeezed her eyes shut and refused to think of that. With resolve, she stepped out of her warm car and into the bone-chilling rain, but only managed a few steps. When she saw what awaited her, her resolve was short lived.

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Chapter Five Jillian froze. Standing all around her were the ghosts she had seen in her vision. Only this time, they were far more terrifying. Her heart sank. The graveyard was enormous and everywhere there were ghosts, gray and pleading, coming toward her in their burial shrouds. Soldiers, men in suits, women in long nightgowns, some barefoot. Jillian shrank back. Her pulse rioted. Where was the ghost? He’d promised to protect her. Boo yapped frantically from inside the car. Jillian squeezed the button, holding it protectively to her chest. She trembled. Her mouth went cotton dry. These ashen ghosts did not look like Benton. There was no life in them. They looked like soulless revenants. Fear surged inside her. How was she ever going to find Amy? Her gaze darted to the left. One of the ghosts nearest her was coming closer. Dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and black tie, he would have looked like a normal man but for the fact that he was dead. His face was an eerie blue shade of pale and his clothes appeared faded, dusted with grave grime. An unearthly moan emanated from his throat as a long, thin hand reached for her. Jillian gasped and darted out of his reach, slipping on the wet winter grass. One knee hit the ground but she managed to clamber to her feet. She was cold and wet and shaking—and afraid. It was just as she’d feared. She had known if she opened up to her psychic ability this very thing would happen. “I can’t help you,” she muttered, avoiding eye contact with the man. She skittered away but there were so many others, all ambling toward her, their mouths moving but without coherent sound. “What do you want from me?” Her voice sounded hysterical and high-pitched. The words didn’t seem to register with them. They just kept steadily progressing toward her, reminding her of some awful scene from Night of the Living Dead. Her heart thudded relentlessly against her rib cage. The ghosts were closing in and there was nowhere to run. They had completely surrounded the Jag, preventing her from getting back into the car. Boo howled. Jillian felt a wave of static energy rush up her spine. One was behind her. Close. She sucked in a breath. Did she dare look? She trembled. Slowly, she turned her head and glanced behind her, expecting the worst. Benton!

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Relief flooded her from head to toe. His gaze was dark, threatening. He stood ready to fight, his dark hair soaked with rain and clinging in black strands to his head. His eyes narrowed into slits, his expression daring the revenants to come any closer. In comparison to them he looked so, so real. Any other time Jillian would have been terrified of him. Not now. Now she knew without a doubt this man—this spirit—was her rescuer. Cautiously she backed toward him, her heels sinking into the wet earth with every step. She didn’t stop until her back found the hard wall of his chest. Two strong hands cupped her biceps with a vibrant energy that sent electricity rushing through her body. His mouth brushed her ear. “Close your eyes. Find your sister. Look for the name on the gravestone.” His raspy drawl was an unmistakable command. Jillian obeyed. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe but she couldn’t. The idea of the ghosts surrounding her, the solid spirit behind her and the threat of the soul collectors sent a wave of terror through her that made her want to retreat and run. But she had to find Amy. She had to do this. She could do this. Determined, she summoned her ability. It was as if she were falling through a tunnel, soaring over the tops of the grave markers, over the cemetery itself. She directed her sight. Find the place where Amy is buried. Find it, she told herself over and over. And then her focus was drawn, fast and furious, straight down to a stone… February 24, 1838–December 16, 1864 Brigadier General 20th Tennessee Infantry, CSA Thomas Benton Smith. Jillian’s eyes flew open. Benton’s grave? Sirens wailed as the others arrived. The ghosts were gone. Benton was gone. She stood alone, shivering in the rain. As Theo sprinted toward her clad in a yellow raincoat, she managed to summon enough wherewithal to remember she had, once again, stolen evidence. She slipped the button into her pants pocket. A wiry little man dressed in jeans and a jacket ran behind him. “This is the groundskeeper. Where is she, Jillian? Do you know?” She nodded. “Benton Smith,” Jillian told him. “She’s in Thomas Benton Smith’s grave. He’s a soldier. A Civil War soldier.”

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The man thought for seconds that seemed to Jillian like hours. “Yes, I know that grave. Come with me.” Jillian nodded. She turned to Theo. “Hurry. Please hurry!” The groundskeeper ducked his head and ran in the rain. The others followed past the obelisk, behind the mausoleum—to where a stubby piece of PVC pipe protruded from the ground behind the weathered marble grave marker of Thomas Benton Smith. Breathless from running, Jillian fell to her knees, heedless of the cold, soggy ground. “Amy!” she called down the tube. “Amy, it’s Jillian! We’re going to get you out of there.” The image of her sister trapped in a coffin under the ground, alive, made her want to wretch. She fought down the rising nausea. Tears mingled with rain and ran freely down her cheeks. Theo pulled her back as the rescue team went to work. It seemed an eternity as the men shoveled earth out of the grave to free Amy. Jillian tore her gaze away from them and hugged her arms to dispel her shaking. She sank to the ground and pressed her cheek against a chilly tombstone. She closed her ears to the sounds of the men and machinery and retreated to the silence within, praying, begging and bargaining with the power of the Universe to let her sister be alive when they opened that grave. And then she heard the sound of metal hitting wood. An awful eternity passed before the box was cleared enough to open. A raingearcovered officer lifted the top. Jillian dared to look inside but her view was impeded by a throng of paramedics. Jillian’s heart lodged in her throat. “She’s alive!” one yelled. Jillian’s heart soared. She leapt to her feet. Her trembling fingers came to her lips and she bit back a sob. She’d found her! She’d found Amy! Tears of joy streamed unchecked down her cheeks. She sniffed and wiped her wet nose on the sleeve of her Chanel sweater. One of the officers shouted to the paramedics, “Bring the stretcher. Let’s get her out of here.” Amy was unconscious, her face covered with dirt and grime, her hair in a tangled wet mass. Somehow, she’d freed her hands from the tape and ripped the piece off her mouth. But she was alive. Alive. Jillian rushed across the muddy ground to the stretcher where the mask of a handheld oxygen tank was being placed over Amy’s nose and mouth. Tenderly, she brushed Amy’s matted hair off her forehead and helped the paramedics tuck a dark gray blanket around her. “Hey sis,” she said under her breath. Amy’s eyes fluttered open and she gave Jillian’s hand a weak squeeze before she slipped into unconsciousness again.

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“Think this little fella might bring her around?” Lynn Bowers moved to the other side of the stretcher. Boo was in her arms. When Boo saw Amy, the dog squirmed and twisted until Lynn held it down to Amy’s face. Boo whimpered and licked her excitedly. Something sparked inside Jillian she couldn’t explain—some compulsion to take Boo. After all, she was the one who had found Amy. She was the one who’d brought Boo. She reached across and took the dog from Lynn. She held her, clinging and rubbing Boo’s head and ears. Amy was safe now. She was safe. But the would-be killer was still out there. Jillian shuddered as her gaze scanned the cemetery. “Hey y’all, check this out.” Instinctively, she turned toward the sound of the voice and looked into the grave where one of the officers had opened the coffin that lay beneath the box Amy had been in—Benton Smith’s coffin. Crumbling bones lay amidst the remnants of a gray uniform. The same frock coat, the same gilt buttons, the same three stars on the collar. Jillian’s knees went weak. Bile rose in her throat. Standing at the top of the grave was the man himself, unseen by the others. He stared bleakly at the casket and then lifted his gaze to hers. Briefly, his regard moved to Lynn. Jillian’s followed. Lynn flashed a wide, red-lipped smile. “Amy’s going to be all right, now. You did a great job finding her.” Jillian nodded and looked back toward the grave but Benton was gone. A shiver traveled up her spine. The sight of the skeleton in the grave left her with no doubt the man who had touched her, who had protected her, who had helped her find her sister, was dead and had been for nearly a hundred and fifty years. A dark thought intruded into her mind. How had the person who put Amy in that grave known about her association with Benton Smith?

***** Jillian dozed in the hospital recliner, her fingers entwined with Amy’s. A curious mixture of exhaustion and relief left her feeling heavy and stunned, but strangely, not tired. It was almost as if she’d been in a wreck. Amy had been unconscious since they’d found her but despite some minor dehydration and mild hypothermia, she was going to be fine. Jillian shifted to pull the blanket the nurse had given her up to her neck and Amy’s hand tightened around hers. Jillian bolted upright in the chair. “Amy?” Amy’s eyes fluttered open. “Jill?” Her voice was muffled by an oxygen mask. Feebly, she pushed it away.

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“Yeah, Aim. I’m here.” Joy surged in her heart. “Boo?” “Boo’s okay. I called your neighbor to come get her after we brought you to the hospital. I tried to sneak her here in my purse but they wouldn’t let her in. Said it was against regulations.” Amy gave a weak chuckle but then her expression darkened. Jillian knew she was recalling the horror of the grave. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.” Amy’s hand gripped hers even harder. Jillian added, “Don’t think about it now. Try to rest.” A solitary tear seeped out of the corner of Amy’s eyes and cut a trail to the white pillowslip. “I knew you’d find me.” “It was a piece of cake.” That was the understatement of the century and Jillian’s sarcasm was evident in her voice. “How…” Amy’s blue eyes frosted with realization and shimmered in the fluorescent light. “It was him, wasn’t it? The soldier.” Jillian nodded. An overwhelming feeling of gratitude surged inside her. She never could have faced the soul collectors or the graveyard ghosts without Benton. She never would have found her sister alive without his help. Her lips pulled into a smile and she became acutely aware of the button pressed against her thigh. Now it was time to tell him goodbye. To let him go. She had promised to help him find the Light once Amy was safe. Only Amy could do that. A sense of sadness seeped into her heart and squeezed tight. She would never see him again. Never look into those deep gray eyes or feel the unyielding energy of his presence again. Still, she’d made a promise. She withdrew the button from her pocket and put it in Amy’s hand. “I think he wants you to have this.” Something hard tugged at her heart as she relinquished the button. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and allowed her psychology education to rush to the forefront as the analytical voice of reason. This ridiculous attraction to him was due to traumatic circumstances. Nothing more. For Pete’s sake, the man was dead. He was a ghost. So why did she regret giving up the button so much? Jillian sighed. “Will you thank him for me when you see him?” Amy stared. “I can’t imagine you communing with a spirit.” “We did not commune.” Jillian smoothed back her hair with her palm. “He helped me to…to open up psychically so that I could find you.” Amy gave her a knowing smile. “Could you see him?” Jillian gave her a reluctant nod. “He’s handsome isn’t he?”

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This conversation was getting uncomfortable. Jillian made a face. She didn’t want to talk about the ghost anymore. She wanted to make good on her promise to let Amy send him into the Light. “Come on, Jill. Admit it. He’s handsome.” “I suppose he was handsome—a hundred and fifty years ago.” But that was a lie. She’d found him devastatingly attractive. Amy shook her head. “You’re just too practical. Spirits are fun.” “Amy, this experience has been anything but fun. I’m glad it’s over. I don’t see how you can stand them…touching you.” She got the willies. “Send him to the Light. That’s what he wants.” Amy’s lips parted. “What? He touched you?” Oh no. Now she’d stepped in it. Jillian inhaled sharply. “Tell me, Jill.” Jillian shook her head vehemently. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Amy laughed. It was a sound that made Jillian smile in spite of herself. “I think you two did more than commune,” Amy said as she nodded her head. Jillian crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s enough. I braved my worst fear to find you. You can stop with the sisterly ribbing now.” “But Jillian, Benton is your Gatekeeper. He’ll protect you. You should keep this with you. I don’t think he’s ready to go into the Light—yet.” Gatekeeper… She inhaled at the memory of her dream. Gatekeeper. Her body heated when she recalled how it had felt to come with her legs wrapped around his tight body. She caught herself and forced the memories away. This was crazy. She wasn’t one of Amy’s desperate clients who wanted to connect with the great beyond. “No, Amy. I made a promise to him that if he helped me, I would help him. He told me he wanted to go to the Light and you’re the only person I know who can send him.” Amy gave her a weak smile. The door swung open and a nurse blustered in. “Oh, Miss Drew. You’re lookin’ all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. How you feelin’?” “Tired.” “Well that’s good, sweetie. You’re supposed to be tired,” the nurse said and offered her a tiny paper pill cup. “The doctor ordered something to help you rest.” Jillian helped Amy sit enough to down the pill, avoiding looking at Amy’s broken, jagged nails where she’d tried to dig out of the coffin. Amy chased it with some water and then Jillian lowered her gently back to the pillow. “Honey, you can go on home now. What we gave your sister is gonna knock her out for the night. That officer outside the door says he’s gonna stand guard.” 47

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“But—” “I’ll be fine, Jillian. Really. You look beat. Go home. Get some sleep.” Exhaustion had finally caught up with her and now she was bone tired. The idea of getting out of her muddy, damp clothes and sinking up to her neck in a steaming hot bath was more than appealing. She leaned over to give Amy a quick kiss on the forehead but Amy pulled her into a tight hug. A little sob tore from Jillian’s throat at the sudden display of affection. But it was more than that. “Tell Benton I’ll miss him.”

***** Her Manolo Blahnik pumps were ruined. “Oh well,” Jillian said as she reluctantly tossed them in the waste can. Expensive shoes could easily be replaced. The soggy Chanel sweater lay in a blue pile at her bare feet. Maybe the dry cleaners could salvage it but she doubted it. She slipped off her taupe trousers and held them up. Wrecked. Totally. Besides being waterlogged with rain, a nasty grass stain marred one knee. Another dark stain saturated the back of the right leg. But it wasn’t mud. Jillian peered closer. It was blood. Her blood. She dropped the pants to the floor and propped her foot on the side of the tub. Three vicious, deep claw marks etched an ugly red path down her calf. She hadn’t noticed the wound in the mêlée but now it stung painfully. Sirius hopped up on the edge of the tub and batted at the running water but Jillian knew what he really wanted was a good rubbing behind the ears. He purred at her touch but his contentment was short lived. His green-eyed stare darted to something Jillian could not see. Hissing and fur flying, he darted off the tub and out of the bathroom. “Goofy cat, it’s just the storm.” Thunder and lightning raged outside but Jillian wasn’t about to let anything come between her and a hot bath. She shucked off her bra and let it fall to the floor, intent on stepping into the tub, but her gaze caught something in the mirror—a fleeting glimpse of a shadow behind her. With a gasp, she whirled around. No one. Her heart thudded against her rib cage. She’d been so certain. Still the hairs on her arm rose with a static charge. Had one of those graveyard ghouls followed her home? She shuddered at the thought. Maybe she’d given up that button too soon. “Is anyone there?” she asked, very aware she was wearing nothing but a pair of skimpy purple panties and no bra. Instinctively, she covered her breasts with her hands. “What do you want?”

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But no answer came to her, psychically or otherwise. This was crazy. She was spooked. That was all. And with good reason. In one day, she had spoken to and been touched by a ghost, attacked by evil shadow beings, pursued by revenant souls in a graveyard and found her sister buried alive by some mad man who was still out there. It was perfectly reasonable for her to be skittish. But even given that, right now, she was too exhausted to give it any more thought. She balled her dark hair up with a Scrunchie, peeled off her panties and stepped into the steaming bathwater. The heat felt good. Really good. Sliding down until the water touched the hair at the nape of her neck, she closed her eyes and tried to relax but her mind wouldn’t be quiet. Events of the day played through her thoughts over and over. Who had kidnapped Amy? And for what purpose? And what did Benton Smith and that button have to do with it? Benton Smith. His face drifted to the forefront of her thoughts. Strong. Handsome. Dashing. That was the word. Dashing. A wistful smile pulled at her lips. It was too bad she hadn’t known him when he was alive. Jillian’s body tightened with remembrance. In the dream, he’d been so…perfect. Her pussy clenched and her hand crept down to where she found herself wet and ready. Thunder suddenly boomed and lightning struck so close to her house it shook the foundation and knocked out the power, leaving her ensconced in total darkness. Jillian gasped. A split second passed before she realized what had happened. Her heart rate slowly returned to normal as she fumbled for her towel, cursing because she had a dozen candles surrounding the tub and not one match. She pulled the plug with her toe and climbed out of the tub. Wrapping up in a thirsty white towel, she picked her way through the clothes on the floor to the bedroom. The house was eerily quiet except for the fury of the rain, wind and thunder rattling the windowpanes. There was no hum of electric sounds to comfort her and since Sirius had bolted, not even her cat to keep her company. “Kitty, kitty,” she called, to no avail. She was about to check under the bed when lightning struck again, illuminating the room in a quick flash of dazzling White Light. But as the room descended once more into murky shadows, Jillian saw it once more—a dark figure looming near the doorway. She froze.

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Chapter Six The sight of the unexpected visitor nearly caused her to lose her towel but she managed to hang on to it so it concealed all the right places. “Who are you?” This time it was not a request. Blood raced through her veins. Damn this darkness. The sound of footsteps thudded on the wood floor. Whoever it was, he was coming closer. Jillian shrank back against the footboard of the bed. Her heart pounded against her rib cage. Her pulse throbbed in her ears. Lightning flashed again, illuminating the figure only inches away. This time, in the flare of light, she saw his face. Benton. Her heart soared. She blew out the breath she had been holding. “You scared the life out of me!” Somewhere inside lurked a feeling she couldn’t identify. At first she thought it was relief but it was more than that. It was as if she knew that as long as Benton was near she was safe, protected—and something else, something she had never known before, something for which she had no name. The feeling evoked a new sense of panic that had nothing to do with the fact he was a ghost. She flushed. His gaze drifted from her to the cat, who crouched under the corner of the bed, staring wild-eyed. Although Sirius made a mad dash for the door, Jillian never took her eyes off Benton. What had brought him back here? “I don’t understand,” she said. “I gave the button to Amy.” The hint of a smile curled at the corner of his mouth. “And she put it back in your pocket.” Lazily, his gaze slid into hers once more, only leaving her eyes to drop to her lips and then lower to where the towel strained to conceal the fullness of her breasts. There was no mistaking the heat in his smoldering gaze. Instinctively, she drew the towel higher. Liquid warmth coiled downward inside her. She wet her lips. This was awkward. Fucking him in a dream was one thing but considering having sex with a…a ghost, was unthinkable. She had to put some distance between them. Trembling and acutely aware she was wearing nothing but a towel, she moved around the side of the bed and sat gingerly on the edge. “Would you like to sit down?” Why was her mouth suddenly so dry? He looked at the spot beside her and lifted a dark brow. The bed sank as he sat and she felt the pressure of a steel thigh against hers. An instant wave of heat climbed up her spine. This was a mistake. Now she was wedged between the ghost and the headboard. There was nowhere else to go and he was close—so close. 50

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She caught the familiar masculine scent of wood fires and leather. His smoldering gaze never wavered from hers as he ever-so slightly leaned toward her. “Do you think this proper, madam?” Something in his mocking tone and wicked, dimpled smile told her he didn’t care if it was proper. And then the dimples deepened with a smile that stole her breath. Jillian’s heart ricocheted in her chest. Her gaze dropped to his beautiful mouth and then shot back to his eyes. A hot blush blazed up the front of her throat and infused her cheeks. What was she thinking? What was she doing? She was a licensed, practicing psychologist. How could she be sitting here entertaining the idea of making out with a ghost? She nearly gasped out loud. She was considering it. She had been considering it. She wriggled away from him, painfully aware of the absence of his hard thigh against hers. Jillian was thoroughly disconcerted but in the darkness, he appeared almost solid— almost real. He certainly felt real. She wet her lips. “Why didn’t you let Amy send you into the Light?” “She didn’t exactly give me a choice.” He looked down to where his long fingers sprawled across his thighs and Jillian noticed the ugly scratches on his hands where those creatures had clawed him. Realization flooded her. Amy had sent the button back with her because this wasn’t over yet. But what was he doing here? Now? She had the distinct feeling she was in danger— danger of a different kind. “Is…is Amy in trouble?” She was afraid to ask. He shook his head. “Not now.” “Then why…I mean…you’re here.” He was silent. Jillian’s pulse was racing. Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the towel tighter. “I… Thank you for helping me. I could never have found her without you.” “It was an honor to be of service,” he said. His sexy drawl and old-world wording mesmerized her. “The pleasure was all mine.” The way he lingered on the word pleasure sent a wave of heat rushing up Jillian’s back that settled uncomfortably in her neck. She drew a knee up under her, inadvertently letting the towel slip a little. Benton’s gaze warmed, sliding down, making Jillian intensely aware of the soft cotton against the sensitive skin of her distended nipples. She jerked the towel back into place, conscious of her pounding heart beneath her fingers. “I thought men from your time were supposed to be…gentlemen.” Her tone was surprisingly not as critical as she had intended. It was teasing, flirtatious. Although she’d been with men before, she’d never made the first move. She had certainly never been accused of engaging in anything licentious. For once, she was shocked at herself.

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He laughed outright. It was a warm and rich laugh—and very, very seductive. “Madam, I have been a soldier since I was sixteen years old. I am aware of the proper decorum a gentleman should demonstrate in the presence of…a lady.” His judicious gaze raked her again. “I thought you said you’d given up on ladies.” Her eyes narrowed coquettishly. “And I will remind you, General Smith, that you were the one who intruded on my bath.” A little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Despite the chill in the air, she felt warm all over—and unreservedly exposed. His smile broadened. One of his dimples was slightly deeper than the other. “I might remind you that you were well aware of my…presence…before you disrobed.” She had suspected something was there. But not something so utterly…male. His dove gray gaze moved to her forehead, where he raised his hand and brushed his thumb across the scratches, his palm lingering to gently cup her face. Jillian’s heart skipped a beat. But it was not because she knew he was a ghost. It was because his touch was so tender, so compassionate—and so completely real. And so easy. “What you did today was incredibly gallant.” Jillian smiled at his choice of words. Gallant. He was a nineteenth-century man after all. “Anyone would have done the same given the circumstances.” He shook his head. “No, my dear. You are wrong. I’ve seen grown men turn tail and run when faced with battle. I’ve seen cowards turn into conquerors. But someone with your determination is rare.” His eyes shone with austere sincerity. Jillian swallowed. “I did what I had to do. That’s all.” But she knew he was right. She had overcome deep-seated terror to find Amy. And she couldn’t have done it without Benton’s help. All at once she realized how much she had always wanted a safe haven, how much she had always longed for someone, needed someone strong and unselfish—someone like Benton. Her lashes fluttered shut. She turned her cheek more fully into his calloused palm and relished his caress, suddenly feeling vibrant and alive. She wanted to remain here like this with him forever. But then a dark thought intruded. Soon he would be leaving her forever. Amy would send him into the Light after this was over and Jillian would once more be left alone. Her mind warred with her heart. She couldn’t let this continue. She’d already let him cross any and all of her boundaries. Her mind grappled for anything, some word, something to divert this. She opened her eyes and drew away from his touch. “How did you…die?” The dimples disappeared. His eyes turned to steel. His hand and his gaze dropped to his knee where he brushed away some imagined lint. “I was killed with my own sword by the Federal colonel to whom I surrendered.”

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He seemed resigned enough to that fact. So why had he not gone on to the Other Side? Jillian proceeded with caution, trying very hard to concentrate on anything but the warm throbbing high between her legs. “I…talked to a historian today. He told me what happened. He…he told me about Hattie.” Benton’s gaze found hers once more. His eyes narrowed. Instantly, she regretted her words. It was obviously a sore subject. She shouldn’t have brought it up but perhaps her statement had served its purpose. Their gazes locked for another heartbeat and then he looked away. “So that’s how I’ve been remembered.” “No, no.” She tried to touch his sleeve but her hand moved through him. How could he be corporeal at times and so transparent at others? “No, I mean he told me that you were killed saving the life of the man who married Hattie.” “I was his superior officer.” His stare returned to hers. It was severe. “Of course, but…well I thought it was… I thought it was a noble thing to do.” “Honor had nothing to do with it.” His words were sharp, clipped. This tactic had been a mistake. She had to change the subject. Her mind searched frantically for something to say. “But when it happened, you…you couldn’t see any Light?” Some dark, haunting memory flickered in his eyes. “I saw it…the Light. Just before your sister was attacked. I could have gone…” “But you didn’t.” His gaze penetrated hers and she saw the seriousness in the deep gray pools despite the watercolor darkness of the room. “No. When I heard someone coming, I warned her and she threw the button.” Jillian’s heart turned over. Hard. He could have gone into the light but he’d stayed to help Amy. She averted her eyes. “I’m sorry Amy put that button back in my pocket.” Her voice was soft, sincere. “I’m not,” he drawled, thick and sweet. Once more, her gaze slid to his. A dark lock of hair threatened to fall across his forehead. The thin moustache and little spade beard were incongruently sinister in comparison with the soft gray of his eyes. She wanted to touch him, to feel him. And above all, she wanted to know what it would be like to kiss a ghost—to kiss him. Her gaze lingered on his beautiful parted lips. So sensuous. So seductive. Just one kiss. Did she dare ask? She didn’t have to. Lithe and soundless, as if he’d read her thoughts, his head slanted toward hers. There was no mistaking the fire in his eyes. Deftly, he pulled the Scrunchie from her hair, letting the loose black waves fall in a tumult around her face. “So beautiful, so

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natural.” His voice was whisper soft as he admired his handiwork for a moment, entwining a lock around his index finger before returning his searing gaze to hers. Jillian’s heart went wild. He moved dangerously close. She burned with anticipation. He was going to kiss her and waiting for it was the most intense mixture of heaven and hell she had ever known in her life. Her eyelids drifted shut. Her pussy tightened with expectation. His mouth brushed hers once, twice, softly, maddeningly. Her clit swelled. “I want to kiss you, Jillian.” His voice was low and raw. “Let me taste your lips.” It wasn’t a request. But it was all the impetus she needed. “Yes,” she said, her voice but a husky murmur. “Yes, Benton.” And then his mouth was on hers, hard and hot. His long, lean body pressed hers down to the bed into the multitude of pillows. The towel between them was a frustrating barrier but there was no mistaking the hardness that urged against her, pressing through the fabric at the apex of her thighs. All coherent thought fled as she opened her mouth to his, reveling in the feeling of his body tensing and shuddering above hers. Wantonly, she opened her legs wider, giving him access to her weeping pussy. He groaned into her mouth. His arms tightened around her, one around her shoulders, his hand buried in the hair at the nape of her neck, the other sliding under her hips, lifting her upward against him. Another hoarse groan emanated from his mouth and his kiss deepened. His lips bruised hers with his need. Jillian could not get enough. His tongue delved into her mouth and then retreated only to push between her lips once more while his hips mimicked the motion. Her pulse accelerated when his hand crept between them and he ripped the towel from between their bodies. Now, all that stopped him from taking her was the coarse fabric of his trousers. Jillian lifted her hips as he ground into her. She ached to have him naked and arching above her. A little cry emanated from her throat. “Please, Benton…” She tried to catch her breath but he continued his ruthless assault on her mouth and all the while, the rough wool of his uniform grazed her breasts, enticing her nipples to swell and tighten. She wanted him naked. She longed to feel his skin beneath her palms, to look her fill at his gloriously muscled chest, slender hips and steel thighs. One of his hands slipped between their bodies and he began furiously unfastening the row of buttons on his fly. His knuckles brushed the hardened bud of her clitoris and she arched toward him, letting her hips voice her desire. Crazy hunger swept through her body. He was going to make love to her. This wasn’t a dream. It was going to happen. She had never wanted anything more in her life. She tried to put her arms around his shoulders but he wasn’t solid. Her hands passed through him. It didn’t make sense! How could she feel his body so hard and solid on hers and not be able to touch him? She groaned her frustration. Dammit. Dammit! “I want to touch you. I want to feel you,” she whimpered between kisses.

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He drew away from her, confusion and passion mingling in his pained gaze, leaving her cold from the absence of his body. Jillian was beyond reason. He was no longer just an earthbound spirit. He was a man and she wanted him inside her more than she had ever wanted any man. She reached for him but again, her hand moved through him. “I want to touch you.” His eyes clouded and for a moment she thought—no, hoped—he would take her on the spot but instead he pushed himself up and off the bed, turning away. “I can’t do this.” Jillian stared at his back as he did up his trousers. She was breathless and aching and exasperated and so maddeningly, thoroughly confused. “What do you mean you can’t?” She propped herself up on her elbows. “I mean, I can’t.” The heat still flamed in her cheeks. “Why not? Are you still in love with Hattie?” “No,” he said quickly. He raked a hand through those dark waves Jillian longed to touch and then he turned to her. “Then what? Are you…incapable?” “No.” His voice was softer, less certain. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. She had been practically begging him to fuck her and he was refusing. She could scarcely believe it. “Do…do you… Are you not attracted to me?” He looked away from her eyes. Rejected and embarrassed, she snatched the towel and concealed her body. Anger quickly replaced her heady desire. After all she had risked, after all she had accomplished… She’d made the mistake of thinking he cared for her. What a total and utter fool she was! She stared, trembling. A hot tear ran down her cheek. She turned her head. She couldn’t bear for him to see her crying. Not over this. She knew he was staring now and she did not dare look at him. Dammit, Amy! Why had she put that button back in her pocket? Why? She’d been ready to let Amy release him at the hospital. Some part of her was grateful he’d had the fortitude to stop. Her thoughts raced wildly back over the past few minutes. She wouldn’t have been able to stop. He breathed a heavy sigh. Jillian knew if she looked at him it would be her undoing, but she did it anyway. Already he had become slightly transparent. Still, his eyes glittered like silver in the dim light. Her gaze moved to his mouth. Those lips. She had just kissed those lips. God, this was crazy. She had never acted in haste, always analyzing the situation, weighing the outcomes. What was different now? What, in one day, had caused such a drastic change in her that she would throw reason and caution to the wind? She had been very close to making love to him. His energy bristled and she trembled from it.

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God, why was he just standing there? Why wouldn’t he just leave? His brow creased. He looked as if some great burden weighed heavily upon him. “Jillian, don’t.” Moving toward her, he made a motion to brush away the single tear coursing down her cheek but she twisted out of his reach. “Allow me to explain.” His voice was soft, pleading. She lifted her chin. “That’s not necessary.” Her gaze locked fiercely with his. “I’m glad you stopped. It would be irrational for me to get involved with a dead man.” A false-sounding chuckle erupted from her throat. She raked her hand through her hair. “I can’t believe I just said that.” Benton didn’t reply. He eyed her coolly. Jillian continued uncomfortably. “Nothing can come of this.” Her voice rose slightly. “I’ll be living my life after this and you’ll be going…to wherever you will go when Amy sends you to the Light.” “Precisely.” His cold tone sent a shiver down her spine. She inhaled. “Good night, Benton.” He gave her a low bow. There was no mistaking the mocking irony in his exaggerated gesture. “Good night, madam.” And with that, he vanished. Jillian stared in dismay at the spot where he had been, instantly regretting sending him away. But she had to do it. She had to maintain her boundaries, to stay safe. This time, however, her safety didn’t have anything to do with those evil beings or the psychopath who had abducted her sister. This danger was far more terrifying. She shuddered. Amy had called him her Gatekeeper. It meant he was supposed to protect her. But how could he protect her from herself?

***** Jillian awakened to the sound of rain softly pattering the windowpanes. It was still dark outside and her mind was so clouded, she couldn’t recall falling asleep. Squinting, she propped herself on one elbow and eyed the clock. Sometime during the night the power had come back on. Her bedside lamp glowed softly and the bathroom light was once again on. The digital clock on her nightstand flashed red. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned off the lamp before sinking back into the pillows. How had she ever fallen asleep after what happened? Her mind raced over the day’s events. The early phone call, the button, her encounter with Benton, finding Amy. But then her thoughts turned to what had nearly happened with Benton. Her stomach tightened.

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How had it happened so easily? She tried to think up an analytical explanation but couldn’t. It defied that. It defied everything she’d been taught, everything she’d ever experienced, everything she ever thought she would experience. She had been so ready, so willing. There had been no mistaking the passion in his kiss. She wet her lips with her tongue, the memory sending flames up the back of her neck. But why had he turned so cold? Had he lied to her about being in love with his long-dead fiancée? Did he find her distasteful? Too fast? A hot blush blazed in her cheeks. After all, he was a nineteenth-century man, a man whose honor and reputation was prized above all. Realization sank to her toes. She had humiliated herself. The one thing she prized most was her dignity and now it was shattered. The sudden noise of the phone ringing startled her. Jillian’s gaze shot in its direction. Her breath froze in her chest. Dread swept over her. A second ring broke the silence. Shaking, she reached and lifted it out of its cradle. A check of the caller ID informed her it was an unknown caller. She punched the talk button. “Hello?” “Jillian.” The voice was low, breathy, unrecognizable. Instinctively, she punched the record button on the answering machine. “Who’s speaking?” “Do you still have the button?”

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Chapter Seven Her heart raced. She slipped out of the bed and peeked out the window. The streets were dark. Empty. Adrenaline raced through her veins. She had to tamp down the surging panic. She had to keep her head. And she had to keep this person on the line. “What button? Who is this?” “Is your pretty blue sweater ruined, Jillian?” Jillian’s gaze shot to the darkened bathroom where her Chanel sweater still lay in a wet heap on the tile. She swallowed. A chill crept up her back. The suspect had been close enough to see her. “What do you want?” she demanded. Her hand was shaking. She shot a glance at the recorder, the flashing red light indicating it was recording. Feeling utterly exposed, she snatched the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around her. “What do you want?” she repeated. Her voice rose with hysteria. There was a long silence but Jillian could tell the suspect was still on the line. Her gaze fixed on her own reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were wide with terror. Thick, dark hair hung in rebellious waves around her shoulders, creating a stark contrast between her pale skin and the white sheet. The suspect spoke. “Do you think your Gatekeeper can protect you from me?” Her heart skipped a beat. The person laughed. The sound was insane, maniacal. “Do you really think he wants to keep you alive? I don’t.” “Who is this?” The phone clicked and then Jillian heard a dial tone. Frantically, she punched the talk button again. The suspect was gone. “Jillian?” She gasped. Her gaze flew to the mirror. A dark figure stood behind her, silhouetted in the dim light from bathroom. She whirled and raised her arm, intent on fighting with the only weapon she had—the phone. Relief flooded her when she saw it was Benton. Clutching the sheet, she sank to her knees and forced herself to take deep gulps of air. The phone tumbled from her fingers to the hardwood floor. Immediately he was next to her, his strong arms engulfing her. Long fingers threaded into her hair and he held her head against his chest. “You’re trembling,” he whispered.

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“That was the person who took Amy. He…” she began, but then realized she couldn’t be certain from the suspect’s voice if it was a man or a woman. “He knew about you. He knew Amy called you my Gatekeeper. He knew about my blue sweater.” “Shh.” He squeezed her tighter. “Listen to me.” She became still, realizing in that stillness that he was wearing only a snowy muslin shirt and his gray trousers held up by a set of dark-colored suspenders. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” Jillian swallowed. She knew she should call Theo immediately but she didn’t want to leave the sanctuary of Benton’s embrace. She opened her palm to put it against his chest but again, her hand passed through him. Frustration brewed. She wanted to touch him, to feel him, to seek comfort in his arms. She needed it. She needed it badly. A little sob tore from her throat. “Benton, please, I…” Then her hand found the hard wall of his chest and lower, the tense, flat stomach covered only by a thin layer of smooth, soft cotton. She swallowed. Hard. She looked up and her gaze found his. The softest smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. A tumult of emotions she could not identify rushed through her being. His chest rose and fell with a deep, resigned breath. What was he feeling? What was he thinking? Jillian was unable to tear her gaze away from his. He was beautiful in the ethereal glow of moonlight spilling through the plantation blinds. So real. So solid. And in that moment, everything seemed crystal clear. She wanted him. Her reservations no longer mattered. She wanted to feel him, every inch of him, encompassing her, sheltering her. For once, she wanted to act without thinking, to live without considering the consequences of the past and the future, to be fully, wholly present in this moment. But she did not dare ask. Anguish was evident in his silvery gaze—and something else. Something unguarded, fierce. Jillian could stare no longer. She could not bear rejection again. Not today. Not now. She started to look away, to bury her head once more against his chest but he caught her chin in his palm and tilted her face up to his. A husky groan emanated from somewhere deep inside him and then he claimed her mouth, kissing her, his tongue forcing through the small opening her lips had left him to plunder inside. Mindless, Jillian yielded to him, clinging to his strong shoulders as he continued the onslaught of her mouth. She trembled. Big hands roamed over her body, caressing her through the sheet. Jillian wanted it off but it was wound too tightly around her limbs. A moan of protest escaped her lips when his mouth left hers but her objection was short lived. He nuzzled her neck, his little moustache and beard tickling her, teasing the sensitive skin there. Jillian gripped his head, flinging hers back to give him easier access. His mouth was hot, wet and relentless. Wetness flooded her pussy. She could hear herself encouraging him, giving voice to words she had never before used. 59

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His fingers found one of her nipples through the thin cotton sheet, sending white hot desire dashing straight to her pussy. “Now, Benton. Now.” Her pleas were seductive, desperate. And as if in answer, his arms tightened around her. Suddenly, he was lifting her. His mouth found hers once more as he laid her on the bed. Releasing her mouth, he stood over her, his need glaringly obvious through his gray trousers. Jillian watched, breathless. He hastily shrugged off his suspenders and yanked his shirt off over his head. His body was lean and rippled with the muscles of a man who knew intense physical labor. An angry scar marred his left shoulder and Jillian felt a pang of compassion wash over her. She swallowed and allowed her gaze to move over the rest of him. His body tapered slightly to his waist. Sparse black down formed a line just below his bellybutton and disappeared into his trousers. He stared and with trembling fingers, unbuttoned his pants slowly, deliberately. Jillian was aware he looked at her but her gaze was riveted to where his hands deftly worked the buttons. Every nerve in her body was taut. Her breath froze in her lungs as he unhooked the last of them. He stopped just before he opened his fly. “Look at me, Jillian.” Reluctantly she lifted her gaze to his eyes. “Tell me you want this.” She swallowed. Her gaze flickered back to his gaping fly. She wanted to see the prize inside. “I want to be sure,” he said. Her gaze searched his. “Tell me.” It was a command. Her answer was to rip the sheet off her body and move to the edge of the bed. Impatiently, she seized his trousers in her hands and freed his burgeoning cock. She gasped at the sight of it. Beautiful, long and hard, emerging from a base of black, black curls. “I want it. Come here,” she said. “Come here…” Her voice trailed off as she took his thick phallus in her hand and then in her mouth. He tasted sweet and salty at the same time, masculine, warm. The way he filled her mouth elicited a moan from Jillian. She grasped one hard buttock to draw him closer. Long fingers burrowed into her hair. Husky pleas and groans emanated from deep inside him. His whole body shuddered and he whispered her name over and over. Jillian delighted in what she was doing to him. She had not realized how much she needed this—to feel his rock-solid hardness in her hands, to be able to please him. Throbbing, aching need swelled between her legs. Her pussy was wet. And ready. So ready. She tore away from him to look into his clouded eyes. And then in shockingly unladylike language, she made it clear to him what she wanted him to do to her and

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where. “Make me come like you did in my dream.” She reached out and dragged him onto the bed with her as he kicked off his boots and trousers. A hard, sinewy thigh parted her legs and for a heartbeat his gaze locked with hers before she felt the swollen tip of his cock slide inside her. Immediately, spasms racked her body. She was coming. Hard. Mindless, she was aware only of his hard, steady thrusting and wave upon wave of pleasure spiraling through her body. Her nails scraped down his back, her fingertips finding a curiously rough scar at the base of his rib cage. He arched above her, pulling out only to come down full length inside her cunt once more. She cried out his name and met his fluid motions with matching intensity. For this one moment, he was real and solid and in her arms and she was thoroughly, utterly sated. Undulating inside her, he pushed himself up far enough to look into her eyes. His mouth pulled into a one-sided grin. “That didn’t take long.” He looked pleased with himself. Extremely pleased. A blush infused Jillian’s cheeks. “I can’t say the same for you.” He laughed. The sound of it was rich and sexy. “I’m not through with you yet.” The fact that she’d just been called by her sister’s would-be killer was quickly slipping from her thoughts. “No?” He shook his head. “No,” he whispered and slanted his head to kiss her. His teeth nipped her lips. A thumb and forefinger found her nipple. Jillian arched. Her moans rose an octave. But Benton didn’t stop there. His lips found her neck once more and he sucked and kissed and left her writhing in pleasurable agony. Ecstasy built and crested once more inside her. Shocked, she grasped his lower back tightly and lifted her hips to grind her clit against him as it happened again. “I’m coming again!” Her voice was but a pleading breath in his ear. “Come with me, Benton. Come with me…” One hand slipped under her hips and he held her there, his body sliding over hers, plunging into hers, his chest raking her distended nipples. Jillian opened her eyes, mesmerized by Benton’s austere, rigid expression. Ruggedly beautiful in his intensity, he defied time and space, life and death, until all that remained was this moment, this experience. His eyes flew open. His gaze found hers and then his face contorted into a conflicting mingling of violent passion, awe— and unadulterated need. A fine mist of perspiration broke out down the length of his spine just before he gave voice to a seductive, silky moan. Slowing his tempo, he pulsed inside her. Jillian was exultant. Her whole body hummed with ripples of vibrant energy. She buried her fingers in his thick hair and delighted in the warmth of his weight as he collapsed on top of her. She kissed his temple and held him, forgetting, if only for a moment, he was not a real flesh-and-blood man.

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He lay there for an eternity muttering antiquated terms of endearment before he lifted himself up onto his elbows and looked into her eyes. In a sudden motion that made her gasp, he caught one of her hands in his and interlaced his fingers with hers, bringing it up to the pillow next to her face. Jillian did not move. He was still inside her, still hard, still solid. His fingers tightened around hers. His thumb caressed her wrist. “I cannot offer you more than I have given.” His voice was but a hoarse, guiltridden whisper. Jillian suddenly knew why he had stopped earlier. He had feared compromising her in some way. Her heart turned over hard. No man had ever had any qualms about leading her on. She searched his gaze, astonished by the pure sincerity evident in his eyes. Something surged inside her she couldn’t name. What was this feeling consuming her? Why couldn’t she identify it? Categorize it? She forced herself to stop thinking. Tearing her hand away from his, she entwined both her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her, holding him there, whispering in his ear things she had never told a man before. His arms slid under her shoulders. His long fingers splayed across her back. His mouth found her ear, where he kissed her and told her how beautiful she was to him. Jillian had never known anything—or anyone—like this. The enormity of what she had just done sank straight to her soul but she could not regret it. Knowing he would have to leave her only made the moment bittersweet and she resolved to memorize every kiss, every caress. And then he was moving again. Slowly. Deeply. His hips ground into hers, pushing her inch by inch up the bed. Jillian’s hands found the headboard and she pushed back, meeting his slow, determined thrusts with a resolve of her own. He pushed himself up on his hands so that Jillian could see between their bodies, down to where they were connected. The sight of his firm, taut abdomen and his thick, hard cock moving in and out of her glistening, wet pussy sent ripples of heat through her body. She trailed her fingertips down his chest, her gaze following down and then back up to where the vicious scar marred his shoulder. He grimaced and some old memory haunted his gaze. Her gaze moved to his temple. The historian had told her Benton was killed with his own sword by a blow to the head. But there was no scar she could see. Why did he carry this scar but not the one that killed him? He stopped moving and withdrew from her. “I know my wound is a gruesome sight.” Jillian looked into his eyes. How could he say such a thing? She shook her head. “I find you beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful.” She brushed her fingertips across the rough skin. “How did it happen?”

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His gaze darkened. “When my brother, John, reenlisted… His service had run out and he’d gone home to his wife and children. But when the fighting moved close to our home in Murfreesboro, I begged John to come back.” He hesitated for a moment. “We needed every man. We were fighting for our homes…” “You don’t have to—” “No. I want to tell you.” He propped himself on his elbows and Jillian looked into his eyes to concentrate on his words. “I knew John harbored some sort of rival jealousy against me. I was twenty years his junior, yet I was the one who had risen in the ranks. The fighting that day was some of the most fierce we’d seen. It was cold and rainy. We hadn’t had proper rations in months.” Benton’s gaze turned steely with remembrance. His stare fixed on a lock of her hair which he wound around his index finger. “We got pinned in by a bluff on one side and the icy river on the other. And there was John at the head of the column. As long as I saw the flag waving I knew he was safe.” His gaze flicked to hers once more. “Because of the rain, the gunpowder smoke hung like a thick, dark cloud over the fighting. And then…then I didn’t see our colors anymore.” Jillian stared as he continued. “I spurred my horse and picked my way to the front. John was already dead. I don’t even remember the bullet hitting me.” His voice grew whisper soft. “Strange how one kind of pain can override another.” Jillian’s heart ached for him. “I can’t imagine how awful it must have been for you.” He gave a dark, derisive chuckle. “The worst of it was taking his body home to his wife and telling her I was responsible for making her a widow.” He closed his eyes. Jillian cupped his face in her hands. Emotion flooded her until thin tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She had the sudden urge to confess her affection for him but she bit her tongue. Nothing she could say would comfort him. Nothing. But then she heard the words bubbling out of her mouth despite herself. “Benton, I think I’m falling in love with you.” Panic gushed through her body. No, no! How could she have admitted such a thing? He opened his eyes and stared. Mortified at herself, Jillian started to speak but her protest stopped cold in her mouth when he dragged her bodily down toward the foot of the bed. He rolled onto his back, pulled her on top of him and sat her firmly on his arousal. She gasped at the suddenness of it as the entire length of his cock slid up to her core. Two big hands seized her hips and then he was plunging inside her once more, gaining leverage with his feet planted securely against the footboard.

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Jillian’s hands found the bed. Her hair fell forward to sweep his chest and face as she rode him. And once more, he was surging into her, his eyes tightly shut. His grip tightened and every muscle in his body grew hard and taut. He sucked in a breath and arched toward her and Jillian knew he was coming again. The glorious image of him in ecstasy and the feel of his swollen penis pulsing inside her sent her spiraling once more over the edge. She was suddenly on her back without quite remembering how it happened and he was kissing her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, her belly, her thighs, other places that made her quiver all over again. Basking in a decadent glow, she felt heavy and thoroughly, totally sated for the first time in her life. A wave of shame burned hot in her cheeks. How could she have told him she was falling in love with him? Why had she said that? Did she really feel that way? He was still kissing her, still sending ripples of pleasure throughout her whole body. An upsurge of panic threatened to well within her but she refused to give it credence. Not now. Benton raised his gaze to hers as his sensuous lips brushed the rise of her hipbone. He was so beautiful. So sexy. No. Definitely not now. She wanted to enjoy this. For once she wanted to give in to her needs heedless of the cost, but the thought was there, looming like a phantom in the back of her mind. He would be gone soon. He would leave her and go into the Light—and she would never see him again. And like a scene from her worst nightmares, he suddenly began to fade.

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Chapter Eight “Benton?” Alarm was evident in her voice. She sat and reached for him but her hand slipped through him. “What’s happening?” Her voice rose in pitch. She cried out but he vanished, his absence leaving her cold. And alone. Jillian scrambled off the bed and into the bathroom, where she rummaged through her pants pockets until she found the button Amy had secreted there. She squeezed it in her hand and called to him. Still he did not appear. Where was he? What had she done? What had they done to cause this? Panic surged. Her whole body trembled. Had manifesting to her fully somehow affected his ability to appear to her now? She considered using her psychic sense to find out but she hesitated. If the soul collectors came after her, would his energy be too weak to fight them? A sickening wave rose in her throat at the idea of something terrible happening to him because of her selfish desire for him to manifest. She swiped at tears with the back of her hand. “What have I done?” Still clutching the button, she stood and walked shakily back into the bedroom. Something in her heart twisted. He was gone and it was all her fault. Jillian swallowed against the hard knot in her throat. Sinking onto the bed, she pulled her knees up to her chest. God, please don’t let anything happen to him. She closed her eyes and recalled the fragrance of wood fires and Benton’s own masculine scent. The memory of his kisses, of his body, of the wonderfully encompassing feel of his cock, sent a nauseating wave of guilt over her. Fresh tears stung her eyes. “Don’t leave me, Benton,” she whispered against her knee. “Please don’t leave me.” And all at once she felt like an eleven-year-old little girl again. Scared. Lonely. Abandoned. She inhaled and opened her eyes. Her gaze found the phone on the hardwood floor. There was no time to sit and brood. She had to call Theo. She had to tell him about the caller. The person had to be caught to ensure Amy’s safety, her own safety—and if Benton was all right, his safety as well.

*****

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Jillian huddled in her oversized terry cloth robe and watched as Theo’s investigators left with her answering machine. Theo stood at the front door and tried in vain to stifle a yawn. “It was a good thing you had the smarts to tape that call. We’ll search for the source of your recent incoming calls.” He gaze swept the desolate street. The dawn sky was just turning pink on the horizon. “I’m ordering Simmons to stand guard for the night.” “Thanks,” she said, forcing a smile at Officer Simmons. She hugged her arms to dispel the cold. “You gonna be okay?” Theo’s forehead wrinkled as he awaited an answer. Jillian nodded but even with the officer outside, she was not okay. She was anything but okay. Benton was gone. Theo pursed his lips together and leaned against the doorframe. “Jillian, I didn’t want to ask in front of the investigators but what did the caller mean when he asked you about a ‘gatekeeper’?” A wave of heat traveled up Jillian’s spine at the thought of Benton, of what they’d done only hours ago. Nervously, she brushed her hair back with her hand. “The…um…ghost I told you about,” she stammered. “Amy called him my Gatekeeper last night at the hospital. There’s no way the caller could have known that.” Theo’s eyes grew wide. “This case has gone from bizarre to plain weird.” He shook his head. “All this ghost stuff gives me the heebie-jeebies.” He swallowed. “I know your sister’s been through a terrible ordeal but we’ve got to figure this out. This dude’s dangerous. He ain’t gonna stop until somebody’s dead.” Jillian shivered. “I’ll talk to Amy this morning and see if she can give us any clues.” “Call if you need me,” Theo said and strode toward his police cruiser. Jillian watched until he backed out of the driveway before she closed the door. Exhausted, she leaned against the doorframe and yearned to give in to the terror, the sadness, to the tears that stung her eyes. But she couldn’t. She had to be strong. “Who’s that standing picket duty?” Jillian whirled. Benton stood in the doorway to her bedroom clad only in his gray trousers and boots. A melancholy smile tugged at the corner of his sensuous lips. Relief flooded her. She rushed across the floor intent on throwing herself into his arms but as she neared him, she noticed he was totally transparent. He looked tired. Sad. She stopped and stared. The implication of seeing him this way filled her head with dismal thoughts. “I…I was so worried. Are you…all right?” He nodded and gave her an unconvincing smile. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about me. I’ll be around. Keep the button with you at all times.” “But—” “Promise me.” He started to fade. “I promise,” she said. Despite the warmth of the robe, a chill pervaded her body that had nothing to do with the cool November morning. 66

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Benton began to fade once more. Alarm bells went off in her head. “Benton, don’t go! I’m afraid.” “Forgive me.” He reached for her hand as he continued to slip away. Jillian felt his touch as only a soft static charge which disappeared along with him. She lingered in the spot for a moment, half expecting him to reappear. When he didn’t, she walked on shaky legs into her bedroom and sank onto the bed. She shivered and then drew the gray Ralph Lauren comforter over her body. Her mind ran rampant. This dangerous attraction she had to him was rapidly becoming unmanageable. Her reckless abandon and equally reckless admission last night had proved that. He was wrong for her. All wrong. But the thought lurked in the back of her mind that everything had been very, very right. She swallowed. No. Nothing was right about it. He was dead. He wholly anticipated moving on—going into the Light. He had told her as much. And she knew there was absolutely no way he could stay with her. Even if there was, having a relationship with a ghost would be impossible. Jillian choked back a sob. This was why she hated her ability. This was precisely the reason she’d turned her back on it. Losing someone to death was terrible enough. Knowing their spirit was alive on some other plane and not being able to be with them was unbearable. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced away the haunting memory of her mother’s spirit. Jillian knew she’d already allowed herself to go too far. Sirius jumped on the bed, his green eyes expectant. She rubbed him on the head and resolved to maintain her distance from Benton until this mystery was solved. If she allowed herself to get involved any further, she feared she would lose her heart and that was something she had decided long ago she would never lose again.

***** Jillian flipped her cell phone closed and dropped it in her purse as she punched the unlock button on the Jag’s remote. Her patients would have to wait another day. Besides, she couldn’t help anyone else when her own problems continued to mount. She slid into the leather seat and started to put her purse in the passenger seat but something—or rather, the lack of something—caught her attention. She stared. Where was the bio she’d copied? She looked under the seat, on the side, in the back, but it was nowhere to be found. Replaying yesterday’s events in her head, she tried to remember if she’d taken it inside. No. She’d left it in the car. So, where was it now? Had someone taken it? She swallowed. Had the suspect been in her car? Unnerved and bewildered, she started the car and drove to the hospital.

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Her heart twisted when she saw Amy asleep. She looked so small and frail in the big hospital bed. Her blonde lashes rested on pale, pale cheeks that were nearly as white as the cover that was pulled up to her neck. Her long hair had been washed but stretched wildly across the white pillowslip. An oxygen tube had been placed under her nose. A half-empty IV bag was suspended over the corner of her bed. Anger gnawed at Jillian’s insides. Whoever did this to her sister was going to pay. She was going to see to that. She closed the door softly behind her and tried to quietly sit in the vinyl recliner next to the bed. She winced as it creaked. Amy opened her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Jillian brushed Amy’s hair off her forehead. “Did you sleep well?” She gave a weak chuckle. “I hardly remember you leaving last night.” Jillian was grateful. She couldn’t bear the thought of Amy lying awake and reliving the horror she’d experienced. A smile claimed Amy’s lips. “Did you find the surprise I left in your pocket?” She punched the button on the side of the bed to raise it so she could sit. Jillian flushed. She knew Amy’s psychic intuition would pick up on her emotions. She stood and pretended to examine the medical equipment, the IV, the oxygen tube. “Yes, I found it.” Her tone was short, clipped. Revealing. She knew Amy was staring, studying her, delving into her with her insight. Her forehead creased. “Do you have the button with you?” Silently, she drew it out of her pocket and handed it to her sister. Amy squeezed it and closed her eyes. Jillian gnawed her bottom lip. She didn’t know what to expect. Would Benton appear? Or would Amy be inundated with images of what happened the night before? Heat ignited in Jillian’s cheeks. She swallowed uncomfortably. She felt terribly guilty, as if she’d done something against the rules of the Universe. When Amy opened her eyes, her stare locked with Jillian’s. Jillian held her breath and watched Amy squeeze the button. “His energy is weak.” “He’s been fighting the soul collectors,” Jillian said hastily. She was relieved that Amy hadn’t ferreted out her dirty little secret. Amy inhaled. “That worries me.” “Why?” “The soul collectors prey on the weak. They could take his soul and—” Unable to hear any more, Jillian interrupted. “Don’t say it.” She sat on the side of the bed and took Amy’s hands in hers, squeezing them a little too hard. Amy winced. She glanced at her hands and then back into Jillian’s eyes. “There’s more to this than you’re telling me.” Jillian debated. Should she tell her? She growled her frustration through her teeth. “It’s so unfair that you can do that.” She’d never been able to keep a secret from her psychic sister. “But you’re right, Amy. We’ve got to find this person. We’ve got to find 68

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them now. I hate to do this to you, to put you through this, but is there anything, anything at all you can tell me that would help us catch this person?” Amy chewed her bottom lip. Her eyes darkened. “I…I don’t know. I thought about it the whole time I was in that…that grave. I don’t know who would do something like that to me. I can’t imagine why…” Tears began to pour. It broke Jillian’s heart to see her sister this way. She swiped at her own tears with the back of her hand. There was one thing she had to tell Amy. “I got a phone call last night.” “From the person who…” Jillian nodded. “From the suspect. And now, I’m afraid I’ve put…I’ve put Benton in danger. You have to think Amy. This person knows about him, about you calling him my Gatekeeper.” Amy stared. Jillian continued. “We found you in Benton’s grave.” Amy’s blue eyes grew wide. “Amy, what is the connection? What do you know about Benton that someone would kill to keep secret? Our lives depend on it. His soul depends on it.” She took the button from Amy’s palm. “He told me you knew something about this.” Realization flooded Amy’s pale features. “Yes. It’s why he’s earthbound. He was—” Her explanation was cut short when Jillian’s cell phone rang. It was Theo. She flipped it open. “Yes?” “Talk about synchronicity,” he said. “I’m with the crime team on my way to a murder scene. Apparently somebody robbed a Civil War relic store and killed the clerk.” Jillian’s stomach tightened into a hard knot. Her heart sank like a stone. There was a connection to Amy’s abduction and this murder. She knew it. She hesitated for a moment and then asked in a trembling voice, “Is…is the victim’s name Matt Gregory?” “Yes. How did you know?” “I think this murder is connected to Amy’s abduction. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She flipped the phone closed, her thoughts racing rampantly over the details. Why would someone kill Matt Gregory? She recalled his black eye. Maybe it was just a coincidence. He’d looked like the kind of person who liked trouble and actively sought it out but she had the indefinable feeling that his murder had everything to do with what he knew about Benton. She took a deep breath and let it out before turning to Amy once more. “I need you to tell me why Benton is attached to this button.”

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Chapter Nine “Benton was murdered.” “I know. He was hit on the head with his own sword after he surrendered.” “No,” Amy said. “This is something not even he knows. He was hit on the head, yes. But that isn’t what killed him.” Jillian’s brow creased. “I don’t understand.” “I picked this up psychically. But I feel that Benton was betrayed by someone he knew. Someone stabbed him in the back. At first I thought it was symbolic information but now I believe that it really happened. Someone literally stabbed him in the back.” Realization flooded Jillian. She recalled the scar on his shoulder and then how she discovered the one on his back while he’d made love to her. Her whole body began to tingle. Was he here now, listening, watching? “Amy, you’re right. He was stabbed in the back. I found the scar there last night.” Amy raised an eyebrow and Jillian knew she’d said too much. Her secret was now exposed. “You found a what? Where?” Amy’s strong intuition would definitely hit on what happened last night now. Amy gasped and covered her mouth as if she’d just learned some horrible truth. Her eyes grew impossibly wide. “Jillian, tell me you did not…oh my God. You didn’t have…sex…with him, did you?” Jillian’s cheeks flamed. She knew she was blushing. She looked away. Amy continued. “Did he…manifest to you?” “Manifest?” Jillian asked but she knew full well what the word meant. “Yes. Manifest. It means to become solid—human?” Jillian swallowed. Amy sat up straighter. “Did he manifest to you? Could you feel him? Was he solid?” Her voice was stronger. Urgent. Jillian was mortified. “Yes to all three,” she confessed through clenched teeth. An image of his body hovering over hers, the sight of his hard, thick cock disappearing into her pussy ignited white-hot heat between her thighs. Her stomach tightened into a guilt-ridden knot. Amy didn’t seem at all astonished. She went on as if it were a matter of fact that someone could have sex with a ghost. “No wonder his energy is sapped. Listen to me. You mustn’t allow it to happen again. Manifesting to you—in that way—weakens his energy. The soul collectors could easily—”

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“Don’t you think I know that?” Jillian’s voice was sharper than she’d intended. In a more civil tone she added, “Now?” Guilt gnawed at her insides. “I was so stupid—but he was so…tender and…hot. I was scared…” Her gaze found Amy’s. “Will he be okay?” Amy reached across the bed and took Jillian’s hand in hers. “Yes. He will. He’ll be fine.” But somehow, she didn’t sound convincing. Her words didn’t have the same conviction as those she spoke straight from her intuition. Jillian breathed a sigh. Amy’s stare turned starry, the way it always did when she got a psychic hit. Some new insight shone on her face. Her forehead furrowed. She looked worried. “Oh no, Jillian. You’re in love with him aren’t you?” Jillian snatched her hand out of Amy’s. She turned away. “That’s ridiculous. I was…I was vulnerable and scared after what happened yesterday. It just…it just happened.” Out of the corner of her eye, Jillian saw Amy flash a wistful smile. “You should know by now that nothing in this Universe ever just happens.” Jillian tried in vain to tamp down the memories of Benton’s hard body moving rhythmically over hers. Fervent warmth rushed up her spine and settled uncomfortably in her heart. “Jill, you do understand that sooner or later he has to go into the Light, don’t you? Sooner being better than later in this case.” “Yes, I know.” This was fast becoming too awkward. She needed to get to the relic shop. The quicker she got Benton on his way the better. Sitting here wasn’t solving anything. It was only making it worse. It was only reminding her of her mother’s death all those years ago… Eleven-year-old Jillian understood her mother was dead. What she couldn’t understand was her older sister Amy’s joy. They’d just come home from the funeral and gotten ready for bed. How could Amy be smiling when Jillian felt as if someone had reached inside her and ripped out her heart? Silently, she brushed her teeth and padded to the bed. Amy was already sitting there with her Ouija board in her lap. Her hands moved at lightning speed, the planchette sliding and scraping across the board. Jillian crawled under the covers and turned her back on her sister. She tried to shut out the sounds but then Amy gasped. “Jillian!” she called excitedly. She turned over and looked at Amy. But she hardly expected to see what her eyes beheld. Somewhat faded but clearly visible was her mother’s spirit, dressed in the clothes Jillian had seen on her in the coffin earlier that day. Fear rendered her immobile. But there was something else. Some strange joy filled her. “Momma!” She gathered the courage to move, to reach out and touch her mother.

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But when her hand moved through her Jillian panicked and began screaming. “No, Jill! It’s our momma. Don’t you see? She’s come to tell us goodbye,” Amy explained, trying to reason with her. Finally Jillian grew still. Dread flooded her. What did Amy mean, “goodbye”? “But…I don’t want Momma to go.” Her voice was filled with pleading. Amy swallowed. “But she has to go into the Light. Don’t you want her to go to Heaven?” “No. no! I want her to stay here with us!” “Jill, are you okay?” Amy’s voice brought her out of her gloomy reverie. Jillian swallowed. “Yes, I’m fine.” She stood and brushed her clothes off in a businesslike manner. “I’ve got to meet Theo somewhere. I’ve got my phone. You call me if you need anything.” Amy nodded. Jillian turned and started to open the door. “Don’t let him manifest to you again,” Amy said behind her. “I have a really bad feeling about this.” Jillian hesitated but she didn’t look back. “And Jill, always remember that love is the strongest power in the Universe.” Jillian’s brow furrowed. Typical Amy, spouting some crazy New Age philosophy when a life or death matter hung in the balance. “I will,” she said and then left.

***** Jillian had seen dead bodies before but she had never become accustomed to it. Matt Gregory lay on his back in a pool of his own blood. His throat gaped where someone had slashed it open from one side to the other. His hands were covered in blood from long, deep defensive wounds. Jillian suppressed a gag. She knew he’d fought back. Hard. Whoever did this hadn’t left here without a few bruises of his own. A shudder swept up her spine. Someone had followed her here yesterday. Were they here now? Waiting? Watching? The idea gave her the creeps. She shut her eyes for a moment, wishing Benton’s strong arms were around her. “I don’t understand it,” Theo said. “No money was taken. None of the merchandise. It doesn’t make sense.” Jillian watched the crime scene investigator take skin sample scrapes from under Matt’s bloody fingernails. Hopefully, this time they would get some conclusive DNA evidence. Theo’s hands found his hips. He shook his head. “The only things moved at all were these old books. What would a killer want with a dusty old history book?” Comprehension flooded Jillian. The book! Yes, that was the key. The suspect stole the bio I copied. She darted behind the counter and began a frantic search for the book with the 72

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information about Benton. Her investigation turned up nothing. It was just as she had suspected. Someone had taken it. What was in Benton’s history they didn’t want her to know? She wasn’t sure. But what she did know was that book was a direct clue to who had abducted her sister. “What are you looking for?” Theo asked. She couldn’t just confess that she’d been here yesterday. Not only would it raise Theo’s suspicions, it would implicate her in a murder investigation—again. “I’m not sure. It’s just a hunch.” “Does it have anything to do with that Gatekeeper ghost?” He asked the question as if he didn’t really want to know the answer to it. Jillian turned and looked into Theo’s brown eyes. “I’m certain of that much.”

***** Finding a good parking place in downtown Nashville on a weekday was hell. Jillian counted herself lucky when she squeezed the Jag into a parallel spot between the capitol building and the Tennessee State Library. Stepping out of the car, she took in one of the best views of Nashville. The Tennessee state capitol building sat on the highest hill in the city and the panorama of the Cumberland River flowing around the amalgamation of weathered old buildings and modern skyscrapers was a breathtaking sight. She hadn’t been here since her college days at MTSU but if there was any information about Benton, it was sure to be on some ancient roll of microfilm. Impatiently, she dashed inside and presented her driver’s license to the volunteer at the front desk. After filling out a short form, she was issued a library card and admitted. At once, the musty smell of old books, wood polish and copier ink filled her nostrils. She sailed past the reference section into the dark microfilm room and straight toward a birdlike little woman at the information desk. Her name tag read “Edith”. She looked up from a snack of cheese crackers and grapefruit juice. “May I help you?” “Please. I need information on a Civil War soldier. Thomas Benton Smith. Where do I start?” The lady stood with deliberate slowness but Jillian could tell the wheels inside her head were turning. She put on the reading glasses that were suspended from a silver chain around her neck. “You could pull up his service records. Do you know his rank?” Her voice was birdlike too. It warbled when she spoke. “Brigadier general. Confederate Army.” Jillian followed Edith around the corner to where microfilm was stored in row upon row of wide, bone-colored filing cabinets. She had forgotten how daunting a place this was.

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Edith ran a scrawny index finger along the drawers until she came to the one labeled Smi-T. “Smith. Here it is.” She pulled it open. “I will warn you. A man of his rank will have a lot of information for you to go through. Forage requests, correspondence and the like. I would suggest printing it and reading it later.” Edith pulled a little white box out of the drawer and Jillian tagged along behind her like an eager puppy as she moved to a viewer with a printer. “I’ll show you how to get this started and then you can just scroll through until you find him.” She expertly loaded the microfilm onto a viewer and switched on a light. Immediately, old handwritten pages projected onto the screen. “He should be at the beginning of the roll. Let me know if you need any help printing but it should be selfexplanatory.” Jillian scrolled through the roll. Her heart leapt when she found a Thomas Smith but this one’s rank was listed as private. This was not her Benton. A further search of the several other Thomas Smiths also turned up nothing. Discouraged, she sat back in the chair and shook her head. A bald man next to her gave her a wink. “Frustrating, isn’t it?” “Very.” “I’ve been working on my family’s genealogy for three years and I hate to tell you, it never gets any easier.” Jillian gave him an indulgent smile and then she turned a frown on the viewer. Manually she spun the scroll knob again. A thrill raced through her as finally, page after page of information on Benton Smith rolled into view. Jillian leaned forward and studied the pages. The handwriting was difficult to read but it was there. Some strange little twinge of excitement passed through her that Benton had existed. He was real. He’d lived in another time. The idea of his life in that era, complete with family and friends, sent a shiver through her—and also a pang of jealousy. A part of her wished she’d known him then. She sighed. The memory of making love to him the night before only enhanced her curiosity—and her trepidation. For hours, she skimmed letters of promotion written by names she recalled from high-school and college history. John Bell Hood. William Hardee. Jefferson Davis. The letters in his own handwriting were of particular interest to her. It was a fluid and confident style. He seemed like a man who knew exactly what he wanted. And at the bottom of each letter was a big, bold, distinctive signature—T. B. Smith. And then she found a letter that began… Dear Sir, I have the pleasure of acknowledging the receipt of your kind letter requesting we terminate our long engagement by an early marriage. I have no objection to complying with your request.

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Jillian felt a hot, uncomfortable, unwelcome wave of jealousy well inside her. She scanned the letter to the end. I remain yours. Affectionately, Harriet Cooke. “Affectionately,” she said aloud through gritted teeth, surprised at the venom in her own voice. “Whoa!” the bald man said as he leaned over to peer at her screen. Jillian was annoyed but she tried to contain it. The man continued. “No respectable woman would have used a term like that in a letter back then—unless she’d been had.” He winked again. Jillian’s annoyance rose even higher. She’d known Benton was engaged but she had not suspected he’d been intimate with the woman—until now. Heat settled in the back of her neck. He had certainly seemed experienced last night. Had she been foolish enough to think all that expertise came without a history? She drew in a sharp breath. Had Benton—to use the term he, himself had used— compromised Hattie Cooke and then broken off their engagement? Matt Gregory had told her something about Benton breaking off the engagement after Hattie had a psychic premonition of his death. Curious, she scrolled to the next letter. A quick check of the signature told her this one was also from Hattie, although the handwriting looked somewhat more rushed. Dear Sir, As you deem it necessary to terminate our engagement based on my presentiment, I will return your ring to your brother’s widow. I do not expect to ever see you again. With regret, Harriet Cooke. Jillian stared at the letter. What had she meant by “my presentiment”? Was that another word for premonition? The letter was short, angry and to the point. Hattie Cooke had left him with no doubt she truly believed he was about to die. She took a deep breath. Scrolling the microfilm and straining to read the letters was making her nauseous. Yet she had to continue. Somehow she knew she would find a clue to the identity of the suspect who had abducted Amy. A chill swept over her, reminding her that the suspect was now a killer. She scrolled the next letter into view. It appeared to be a request for leave for one of his men. “Not important,” she muttered under her breath—and then a cold shiver

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shook her to the core. Lightning-charged energy bristled behind her and she became keenly aware of Benton’s presence at her back. Maybe she’d better read this one after all. She swallowed and twisted the knobs until the blurred leave request was in crystal clear focus. Dear Sir, I enclose a letter from my fiancée, Miss Harriet Cooke, with whom you are also acquainted. It is imperative that I receive an extended leave from service so that Miss Cooke and I may wed within the month. Sincerely, Bruce K. Bowers, Private Co. B., 20th Tennessee Jillian reread the letter. Bruce Bowers. Why was that name so familiar? “Bowers,” she said aloud. And then it was obvious.

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Chapter Ten Comprehension flooded Jillian. Matt Gregory’s words echoed in her head. The private’s life he died saving was the man Smith’s former fiancée married. Her family still lives around here somewhere. Jillian gasped. Bowers. That was it! Lynn Bowers was a descendant of Harriet Cooke and Bruce Bowers. It all made sense. That was how the suspect had known that she had gone to the relic shop. That was how the suspect had known Jillian had worn a blue sweater yesterday. Lynn had gotten Boo out of her Jag. Stark clarity sank straight to her toes. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “That must have been when she took the pages I copied.” Jillian knew the bald man was staring at her, thinking she was talking to herself but she didn’t care. She had asked Theo to bring Lynn in on the case. Lynn had seen Theo hand her the button. Did Lynn know she still had it? Jillian stared at the letter. Her mind formed a mental picture of Benton stepping between the Federal colonel and Bowers. While the colonel hit Benton on the head, Bowers must have stuck a knife between his ribs. She shuddered violently as she felt Benton’s presence looming behind her. It was static and strong and Jillian did not doubt if she looked over her shoulder she’d see Benton’s ghost standing there. She tensed. “Bruce Bowers killed you,” she whispered under her breath. The energy behind her turned ice cold and then spiked. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Benton had not known. He truly had not known he’d been betrayed by the man whose life he had risked his own to save. Who would have? He’d probably been too stunned by the Yankee who attacked him to realize Bruce Bowers was killing him. Jillian’s heart tightened and just as she was about to turn to offer him some sort of comfort, there was a pop and a flash and the whole Tennessee State Library was left in darkness. The patrons gasped in unison. Jillian shoved the papers she’d printed into her purse and ran for the door, sliding halfway across the slick marble floor in her black Christian Louboutin pumps. She wanted to call Theo immediately but she knew without more substantial proof she would come off looking like a flake. Dodging an oncoming cab, she raced across the street and clambered into the Jag. As soon as she wheeled the Jag into traffic her cell phone began ringing. She drove with one hand and rummaged through her purse with the other. It was Theo. She flipped the phone open with a strange but practiced combination of her index finger and chin. “Hello?” “We have the report back from the crime lab.”

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Jillian’s heart leapt. “Do we have an ID on the suspect?” she asked. She hoped beyond hope the DNA pointed to Lynn. She heard Theo blow out a breath. “Your sister’s DNA is all over the various crime scenes but unfortunately all we have on the killer is a footprint found at Shy’s Hill. All the evidence was destroyed at Mt. Olivet from all the commotion at the crime scene.” Jillian’s hopes sank. Her mind warred with whether she should tell Theo about the Bowers connection or not. “So what do we know about the footprint?” “Just that the suspect has a big foot, wears Nikes and weighs about two-hundredtwenty pounds.” The weight certainly fit Lynn’s description but still it was too vague to go on—and too soon to approach Theo with her suspicions. “What about Matt Gregory?” she asked. “Did you collect any DNA evidence there?” “The lab is still working on it. They’re also working on finding the source of the call you received last night. I’ll let you know when we get some answers.” “Thanks.” Jillian tossed the phone back in her purse. She gripped the steering wheel and called herself stupid for not confiding in Theo. She blew out a breath. After everything that had happened, she knew she needed more evidence. Lynn’s report had pointed toward someone like Jillian being the suspect. Theo himself had even had reservations. No. She couldn’t go to the police without more evidence. She gunned the Jag and weaved through the heavy traffic until she arrived at the office she shared with Lynn near Belle Meade. Lynn’s white Blazer was parked out front. Jillian inhaled sharply. Did she dare go in and confront her? No. That would be stupid. Lynn had obviously gone to great lengths to keep this information secret. But why? And Jillian knew if she blew it too soon she wouldn’t be able to get the concrete evidence she needed. So far, all she had was a name that could purely be a coincidence. She would have to wait until Lynn and Megan left the office for the night before she could go prowling for evidence. A quick glance at her watch told her it was already 4:30. She turned the Jag around and headed for the hospital.

***** Exhausted, Jillian sank onto the foot of Amy’s bed and let her purse fall heavily to the floor. “I think Lynn Bowers is behind all this.” Amy’s forehead creased. “Lynn? Why?” Jillian explained how she’d gone to the relic shop and what she’d found out there. Amy’s eyes grew wide when Jillian told her the lengths she had gone to, to get the

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button back and to find where she’d been buried. She told her about Lynn getting Boo out of the Jag, the phone call from the suspect and then about the clerk’s murder. “And you believe Lynn is capable of this?” “Yes. I believe it has something to do with Benton being murdered by Lynn Bowers’ ancestor.” Jillian blew out a breath. She told her what she’d found out at the Tennessee State Library. Amy’s face darkened. “I have a confession to make.” Jillian’s gaze swiveled to Amy’s. “I…I dated Lynn’s son for a while.” Jillian stared, stunned. How could Amy not have mentioned this? “Did you say anything to him about Benton?” “Yes.” “When?” “Before this happened. Last week. I don’t remember exactly.” “What’d you say?” Big tears welled in the corners of Amy’s eyes. “I didn’t know. I…I should have seen it coming.” “That doesn’t matter now. Just try to remember what you told him.” “We were having dinner at Lynn’s.” Amy scratched her head. “I told them both I had to send an earthbound spirit into the Light and that I had uncovered a mystery surrounding his death. I told her I thought historians were wrong about the way he had died.” “Did you tell her his name?” Amy gave her a sheepish nod. “Yes. I did.” Jillian tapped her fingertips on her thigh. Lynn was guilty. She knew it. And now, Benton was in more danger than she had first thought. “What are we going to do?” Amy asked. “I don’t know. A footprint was the only evidence we got from the crime scene.” She sighed. “Use your ability. Do you get anything at all on this?” Amy stared but Jillian could tell she was thinking. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she turned her palms up. Jillian winced when she saw the angry bruises the tape had left on her sister’s arms. Amy sat that way for an agonizing minute and then her eyes flew open. “Lynn has something she stole from you in her office.” Jillian gasped. “I knew it. She took Benton’s biography that clerk copied for me.” She bolted to her feet but Amy reached out and grabbed her wrist with surprising strength. Jillian’s gaze slammed into hers. “Don’t go there.”

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“I have to, Amy. What she took will tie her to this. I’m certain of it.” Amy stared for a moment and then her gaze fixed on something—or someone— directly past Jillian. “Don’t let her go there.” Jillian whirled but all she could see was a wisp of glittering smoke that disappeared as soon as she looked at it. Was Benton in the room with them? Had Amy seen him? “She’ll be waiting for you.” Amy’s voice took on that dreamy quality it did when she gave a psychic reading. Jillian hesitated for a moment but she knew what she had to do. She would wait until midnight and then she would go. There was no way she was going to sit by and let Lynn get away with what she’d done to her sister. Jillian’s fists tightened into a ball. She turned back to Amy before glancing again at the spot where she’d seen the ghostly mist. “I’m going to catch her. And I’m going to make her pay for what she did my sister—and to you.”

***** Jillian paced the floor at her house. She glanced at the clock again. It was only 8:30. Time seemed to drag. Sirius flashed a green-eyed glare at her and then bounded up onto the back of the sofa. He turned his back on her indignantly. Jillian plopped down on the sofa and gave the cat a scratch between his shoulder blades. This was silly. Waiting like this was only prolonging her anticipation and driving her crazy. The bronze button pressed hard against her thigh through her trousers. Jillian blew out a sigh. Where was Benton? She hadn’t felt him since that brief encounter at the hospital. This would be so much easier if he were here; if she knew for certain he’d have her back while she scoured Lynn’s office for evidence. Sirius purred contentedly and stretched out to give her more access to his back. His feet extended so that every claw was displayed lazily before retracting back into his black paws. With her free hand, Jillian reached into her pocket and drew out the button. She stared at it. Was Benton all right? That little power play at the State Library had left her with no doubt he was angry. He hadn’t known that Bruce Bowers killed him. Was he hurt? Still angry? And what about his energy? Had he depleted his resources when he zapped the power at the library? A rush of guilt swept over Jillian. She’d known she shouldn’t have let him make love to her. She’d known, if only instinctively, there was something dangerous about it. She blew out a sigh and rested her head on the back of the sofa. If anything happened to him because of her… But right now, she was so exhausted she couldn’t think. Her whole body felt heavy and tired. She had not slept well in two nights. She couldn’t remember the last time

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she’d eaten anything. Her eyelids fluttered shut. Startled, she opened them again but exhaustion overcame her and they closed once more… Cheering Yankees poured over the flimsy mud and log works in droves. Bullets whizzed overhead sounding like a throng of angry hornets. Smoke from the constant bombardment of Shy’s Hill curled upward to meet the low-lying clouds. Through the haze, Confederate Brigadier General Thomas Benton Smith watched as the Union colors blazed over the crest of the hill and over the hastily constructed Confederate works. Time seemed to stand still as he assessed the situation. His bedraggled brigade, most of them barefoot and starving, fired off shots as quickly as possible given the icy, drizzling rain. The situation was hopeless. They had fired on the Union troops all day but had suffered several casualties. Only a few stalwart men remained on the top of Shy’s Hill and they blazed away at the Yankees as fast as they could reload and fire. The Yanks were so close, some hurled stones and clods of mud. Jillian stood beside him, amazed at the fracas going on all around her. She could see her hands, bloody and dirty, wrapped around the hot barrel of a rifle. But they weren’t her hands. They were a man’s hands. An amalgamation of disappointment and relief settled in Benton’s features. He looked at her. “It’s done, Bruce. There’s no sense in making martyrs of these boys.” Bruce? Had he called her Bruce? She opened her mouth to protest but no words would come out. It was if she were watching this happen through someone else’s eyes—through Bruce Bowers’ eyes! Benton reached for his white handkerchief. “Hold your fire!” His voice cracked under the strain. Just yards from their position, another Confederate leapt up and took aim at one of the bluecoats who clambered over the works. “No, Billy! Hold your fire! Hold your fire!” Benton scrambled through the slippery mud toward the man but it was too late. “I’ll see you in hell, Yank!” Billy fired and before the smoke had cleared another shot rang out. Jillian watched in horror as Billy’s head snapped back in a violent mélange of skull fragments and blood. Throngs of graycoats deserted Shy’s hill in confusion, chased off by the Federals who shot men in the backs as they ran. Union soldiers surrounded the men, unable to fire lest they shoot each other. Benton snatched the handkerchief and stabbed it onto the fractured point of his sword. “Lay down your arms and surrender, dammit!” Finally, the Union soldiers noticed the flag of truce. Their cheer rent the gloom and they waved their kepis in the air wildly. Acceptance seemed to sink in. The Tennesseans lowered their weapons and moved instinctively toward Benton. Benton stood and stared down at Billy’s body which lay at his feet, a pool of blood mirroring the makeshift truce flag. “Powder and lead were inadequate to resist such a charge,” he muttered under his breath.

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“Lookie here boys,” one of the Yanks yelled, stepping over Billy’s corpse and seizing Benton’s collar in his hand. “I snagged me a damn general.” Benton ignored the crass comment and looked around at his men, his gaze stopping on Jillian. She tried to decipher his expression. Was it hate? Disgust? No, it was remorse. Jillian tore her gaze away from his and looked around the top of the hill. There looked to be about ninety or so men surrendering their arms to the Union soldiers. Once they were rounded up, they began the descent down the steep and muddy slope. Many slipped and fell in the ankle-deep mud. Jillian was behind Benton. She watched as the smoke rose over the hillside. The hill was thick with dead bluecoats. They had not surrendered in vain. The Yanks had taken the position but with great sacrifice. Benton stole a glance at a very nervous private walking alongside him and gave him a comforting wink. “Move along you Johnnies!” The Yank who was apparently the color bearer struck a boy with the staff of his flag. Others pushed the Confederates along roughly, sometimes hitting them in the backs with the butts of their rifles. But all Jillian could think about was that this was where Benton was going to be murdered and she was merely a passenger in Bruce Bowers’ body, powerless to prevent it. Once they reached the bottom of the hill, Benton called to the Captain in charge of the prisoners, “I demand to see your commanding officer immediately.” No sooner had he said it, a Federal colonel rode up, splattering mud on their disheveled band. The man looked angry. And no wonder. The sight of all the Union dead turned the whole hillside blue. The colonel drew a flask from his coat and swigged down a generous amount of its contents. With deliberate slowness, he replaced the top, returned the flask to his pocket and then dismounted, his black boots sinking into the mud. “Well, well. Look who we have here,” he said as he approached Benton. His pale eyes blazed with frightening intensity. “Are you quite tired of playing at war, Boy General?” Benton recoiled at the pungent stink of whiskey. At least six inches taller than the colonel, Benton looked down at him and unbelted his scabbard, surrendering it to the man. “I will remind you, Colonel,” he said, emphasizing the man’s lower rank, “that I am a brigadier general in the Confederate States Army.” He glanced at the solid blue hill. “And if you call that playing at war, then yes, Colonel, my men and I are quite finished.” “You treasonous bunch of cowards.” The colonel’s pale blue eyes blazed hot, his face mottled red with rage. “We would have slaughtered the lot of you Rebel filth if we hadn’t overrun you and feared killing our own. Damned traitors!” Apprehension seized Jillian. And then she heard herself—or rather, Bruce Bowers—yelling at the colonel. “You Yankee bastards…” The colonel, who had turned and started back toward his horse, stopped suddenly. He whirled, eyes glowing red as he drew Benton’s own sword from the war-battered scabbard. Jillian could only watch as the colonel lunged toward her. Benton darted between them. The sword came down on his head with a sickening crack. Jillian felt something cold and hard in her hand. A knife! This was her chance to get revenge. A wicked thrill shimmied through her body and as 82

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the colonel assaulted Benton, the force of the blow causing him to stumble back toward her, she gouged the blade deeply into his back, between the ribs, and then pulled it out and pocketed it before anyone saw. Bloody and dying, Benton whirled and, eyes wide, clutched her coat. He dropped to his knees in the mud, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Something gleamed in his hand—Bruce Bowers’ bronze button. Jillian was jolted awake. Her heart pounded. Perspiration drenched her clothes. And clenched in her fist was Bruce Bowers’ coat button.

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Chapter Eleven Suddenly, Benton was there. Jillian gasped. “Hush, hush,” he cooed as his strong arms enveloped her. “It’s all right. It was only a bad dream.” She moved into his comforting embrace but it did little to dispel her fear. It wasn’t just a bad dream. There was something foreboding about it. Malevolent. Still clutching the button, Jillian sobbed against him, feeling as if she were somehow responsible for what had happened to him. Or as if she would be responsible for something terrible happening to him. A sickening wave of nausea rose in her throat. “It was just a dream,” he said again. “Benton… Thank God you’re all right.” She pulled away just far enough to look into his eyes. “It was awful. I was Bruce Bowers. I stabbed you and there was nothing I could do to stop it.” Her heart hammered against her rib cage. She could still hear the sickening crack of Benton’s skull when the sword came down on it and feel the cold steel of the knife in her hand. A violent shudder racked her body. She opened her fist and stared at the button. “This was his. You ripped it off his coat when he stabbed you.” Something desolate and dark flitted through Benton’s gaze. He closed her hand around the button and held it. With his other hand, he trailed his fingers down her cheek, brushing away her tears, caressing her. Jillian wanted nothing more than to cling to him, to linger here in his reassuring arms. But she couldn’t. Not now. Something about Bruce Bowers murdering Benton had everything to do with Lynn Bowers kidnapping her sister. Jillian searched his eyes. “Why would he want to kill you?” Benton’s lips parted but he did not speak. He drew in an audible breath. Jillian sat up on her knees. “I don’t understand. Was Hattie still in love with you?” His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. Jillian swallowed hard. “Were…were you still in love with Hattie?” Her heart froze in her chest until he answered. He began with difficulty. “I grew up with the men who served under me. We attended school together, church. Hattie was the prettiest belle in Williamson County. And when I was promoted to colonel at the age of twenty-two, she began sending me pretty notes and baskets filled with home-baked goodies. I was nearly completely cut

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off from the commissary.” He gave her a little smile. “Word got around and I guess all the other fellows were a little jealous.” Jillian shook her head. “But why?” “It’s one thing to serve under an officer who is younger than you are but, Jillian, you have to understand. I was not the wealthiest man in the county by any means. My father built cotton gins for a living. He died when I was only sixteen. We weren’t members of the well-appointed planter class.” She tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. He somehow never failed to surprise her. She had always thought of Civil War era Southern men as being somewhat like the characters in Gone with the Wind. Slave-holding, gambling dandies with hoopskirted belles on their arms. And here was Benton telling her a totally different story. “It was by pure luck alone I was able to go to military school. So when I rose like a rocket in the ranks and caught the attention of the most sought-after belle in the county, men like Bruce Bowers weren’t too happy about it.” Jillian stared. “So he was…wealthy?” “Very. Before Shiloh he tried to buy a commission but the men in our company wouldn’t have it. I was one of the few with any military schooling, so…” His voice trailed off. She couldn’t suppress the feeling there was more to this than he was telling her. She thought back over the letters she’d read. “But…why did you break it off with Hattie when you’d written her you wanted to terminate your long engagement and get married in a month?” Benton averted his gaze. Comprehension seeped through Jillian. She felt as if she’d been hit in the stomach. She brought her fingers to her lips. “You slept with her didn’t you?” He shot her a quick glance and then swallowed uncomfortably. “We didn’t actually sleep.” A wave of heat rushed up Jillian’s spine at his admission. All sorts of sordid images filled her mind. Voluminous skirts thrown up in a clandestine and passionate encounter. So that’s why he’d been so concerned about compromising her the night before. She inhaled sharply. “I’m beginning to see a behavior pattern here.” He flinched and then very slowly, he lifted his gaze once more to hers. His eyes narrowed into slits. The soft gray turned steely. “Is that what you think?” Jillian crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re wasting your energy manifesting to me.” “Jillian!” She continued before he had a chance to interject anything else. “Because I wouldn’t want you to compromise me.” “Stop this. It’s not the same.” She shot to her feet. “And just how is it different?” 85

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“Because Hattie was pregnant.” Jillian’s breath froze. Her mouth fell open. How could Benton have refused to marry a woman he had gotten pregnant? Her heart twisted. She’d believed he was different. She’d believed he cared. And above all she wanted to know every last detail of it. Her every instinct screamed at her to turn inward, to unleash her psychic ability and see for herself. She wanted to do it. She wanted to lash out at him, to prove to him that she was not the simpering coward she’d been on their first encounter—to prove to him she was not powerless. She closed her eyes and willed the energy to surround her and at once, she was careening through a tunnel of light, spinning nauseatingly fast until she came to a dead and sudden stop. Jillian was hovering above them. Benton and Hattie. Her heart lurched. Hattie was beautiful. Dressed in a billowing silver skirt that accentuated her tiny, tiny waist, Hattie stood facing Benton. Her shiny brown hair was swept back off her face, rolled up and secured with a decorative comb. She stared at Benton with unadulterated love glowing in her big brown eyes. Jillian felt guilty for eavesdropping. She started to quit this but stopped when she saw Hattie seize Benton’s sleeve in her fingers. A solitary tear rolled down her alabaster cheek. “How can you do this to me?” Her voice broke with emotion. Her knuckles whitened. Jillian’s heart went out to her. She had wanted to hate her but she couldn’t. Instead, she pitied her. God, why did she have to be so beautiful? With her wide eyes and translucent complexion, she looked like a carbon copy of Melanie Wilkes. “I won’t marry you then leave you alone, at the mercy of the Yankees. We are losing this war, Hattie. My men are starving, freezing. And if your insight is correct, I will die within the year. God help me if I leave you to the same fate I left my brother’s wife. God help me. I will not do it.” Hattie searched his steely gaze. She desperately clung to him with both hands. Tears poured unchecked down her face. “But I love you. Don’t go back! Let’s run away together. We could go to Europe. Anywhere! Please, Benton!” He stared and then set her away from him. “And what of my men? What of their fate?” “I don’t care, I don’t care.” She begged him with her wide brown eyes. “But I do care. I may not be able to protect you as a soldier or a husband but I’ll be damned if I fail to protect you as a man.” Hattie stopped crying and stared. Her gaze turned hard. Her eyes narrowed. “I see.” Her voice was cold. “Now that our little accident is out of the way, you had rather me be your whore than your wife.” “Hattie!” She drew back her hand and slapped him with all her might. “I hope you rot in hell, Benton Smith! I hope you do die on that battlefield. And God help me but I will marry your murderer if you leave me now!”

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Suddenly Jillian was being dragged back through the tunnel. Something had her ankles. She clawed at everything and nothing and twisted her head to see what held her. A soul collector! Panic surged. A scream ripped from her throat. And Benton was suddenly there wrenching the beast off her. Claws dug into her foot, scratching as he pulled it away. And as abruptly as it began, it was over and she was in a heap on the floor of her living room. Breathless and fresh from the fight, Benton loomed over her. His gaze swept her and Jillian thought for a moment he was going to ask her if she was all right. But he didn’t. Instead, he glared. Anger blazed in his eyes. She had been afraid of him the first time she encountered him. Now she was terrified. Unable to move or breathe, she stared. “You damn fool. You deliberately provoked the soul collectors!” His voice was like ice that sent a chill straight to Jillian’s heart. He was clearly upset. This time she wasn’t going to show him she feared him. Defiantly, she lifted her chin. “What if I did? I didn’t ask you to rescue me.” She instantly regretted her words. Never had she seen such a look of murderous fury. He lurched toward her to lift her roughly by the shoulders and set her on her feet. Jillian stumbled but his vise grip kept her from falling. She sucked in her breath with dread. Her ankle burned where the soul collector had scratched her. “Do you want me to end up like those phantoms in the cemetery?” He gave her a hard shake. “Do you?” Wordlessly, she shook her head. His gaze searched hers before he crushed her in his arms. His lips claimed hers in a brutally intense kiss. White-hot heat unfurled in her body. His tongue pushed through her open lips, deepening his kiss, thrusting, demanding a response. He was conquering her and she was surrendering unconditionally. Instinctively, her nipples tightened. Her pussy pulsed. Jillian’s mind and body warred. She was not some fragile southern belle ripe for the taking. She was a twenty-first-century woman who did not need a man to come flying to her rescue at every turn. She yanked herself out of his embrace and stumbled several clumsy steps backward. Breathless, she stared at him. Her fists clenched at her sides until her nails dug into her palms and she realized she was still holding the damned button. She ached to hurl it at him but she miraculously checked her anger. Benton stood there looking extremely pleased with himself. A smirk deepened the dimple at the corner of his mouth. He brushed a finger across his kiss-wet bottom lip. Jillian was outraged. “I don’t blame Hattie for slapping you. I’d slap you too if you were a real man.” He laughed outright but she knew her barb had hit its target. The hurt was evident in his eyes.

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Jillian could not bear to look at him any longer. She spun and rushed toward her bedroom. A strong forced knocked her to the bed and Benton flipped her onto her back before his long, hard body pressed her down into the mattress. Her breath left her lungs in a rush. His hands firmly pinned her wrists to the bed above her head. The button slipped from her palm to the sheets. She flung her head wildly from side to side. “Stop it, get off!” “Listen to me.” Thrashing beneath him only intensified the pressure of his body against hers from head to toe. Her heart thundered against her rib cage. “Please get off me.” Tears stung her eyes. She could not believe how foolish she had been. She’d shown him just how jealous she could be. She’d endangered him because of some woman who was long dead. Her face flushed hot. And last night she’d even told him she was falling in love with him. How stupid. What a fool she was! What a stupid, stupid fool! “Jillian, be still. Hear me out. I cannot condone my actions but at least hear what I have to say.” Some plea evident in his voice caused her to stop fighting. She forced herself to look into his gray eyes. “Hattie was with child. We decided to get married sooner. That was what the letter you read was about. At the time, I fully intended to marry her. But in that month, she miscarried. She blamed me. She told me it was because she dreamed I would be killed.” He loosened the grip on her wrists. “She was like you, Jillian. She knew things before they happened. And after my brother died…after I saw what it did to his wife and children, I couldn’t bear to leave Hattie a widow.” The pain in his eyes was unmistakable. Jillian’s heart softened. “She married Bruce Bowers within the month, no doubt to spite me.” “And he hated you because Hattie would always love you.” Her voice sounded soft, uncertain. But Jillian knew the veracity in her words. Any woman who fell under Benton Smith’s spell would forever love him. She loved him. She had to remind herself to breathe. “Am I right?” Benton shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. What mattered was that she would be taken care of after the war.” Jillian searched his gaze. “But you loved her didn’t you?” The thought made her heart turn over hard. “Yes. I loved her enough to let her go.” Jillian wanted to close her eyes but she couldn’t. She could only gaze into his thickly lashed gray eyes, the dark waves of hair falling forward to tickle her face, the sinfully sensuous curve of his lips accentuated dramatically by his feather-thin moustache and spade beard. He was so beautiful. So sincere. “Do…do you still love her?” She couldn’t believe she was asked such a juvenile question. Again.

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He looked at her. His gaze was warm and intense. “Not in the same way. Not now.” Her heart soared—because now she had no doubt she was in love with him. Not after this. But at the same time, her heart ached so badly at the idea of him leaving her she thought it would burst from her chest. With maddening slowness, he slanted his head down to hers and brushed his lips across hers. Jillian grew stiff. She wanted nothing more than to open to him, to taste his kiss, to feel his body moving in rhythm with her own. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t risk his safety—and she certainly could not risk heartbreak. She bit her lip and twisted her head away. “No, Benton.” He stopped. “Did I hurt you earlier?” “No,” she squeaked. She did not dare look into his eyes. He relinquished one of her wrists and caressed her cheek, letting his fingers trail down the gentle curve of her neck. She trembled. “Then why won’t you let me kiss you?” His drawl was silky. Dangerous. All she could think about was kissing him, about his mouth on hers, hard and hot, his tongue tasting, searching. She flushed. “Because…I’m afraid for you. Because I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’m sorry for what I did earlier. Can you ever forgive me?” A devastating smile pulled at his lips, creating a deep dimple at the corner of his mouth. “Of course, my dear. But you know it only weakens my energy if I manifest to you—if I allow you to touch me.” Warmth rushed through her body. She was thrilled. Her heart beat wildly. Was he telling her he could make love to her without manifesting? She wanted to protest but her body was already betraying her, traitorously yearning for him, rocking upward against the unmistakable hardness that pressed against her hungry pussy. She battled with razor-sharp desire. Even if he could make love to her without endangering himself, she wasn’t sure she wanted to allow it to happen again. He wasn’t the only one in danger. But when his mouth found the curve of her neck where he rained expert kisses across the breadth of her collarbone, Jillian heard herself moaning. She reached for him but her hands moved through him. “No, no, sweet,” he whispered against her skin. “This time it’s my turn.” He raised his head, looked into her eyes and then vanished. Jillian gasped. She would have thought he was gone except for the fact she could still feel every long, hard inch of him on top of her. “Benton, what are you doing?” She had a feeling he wasn’t giving her a choice this time. Panic surged. The buttons of her blouse opened one by one, the snowy silk falling away to expose a lacy, champagne-colored bra. Her nipples tightened and although she couldn’t see him, she knew Benton was touching her, cupping her breasts, teasing one pointed

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nipple with the hard tip of his phantom tongue. Closing her eyes, she writhed on the sheets. Hands moved under her body, unfastening the bra, pushing it away. Hot kisses moved down her belly to where insistent fingers unbuttoned and unzipped her trousers. With her eyes closed, it was as if he were there. She raised her hips as he pushed her slacks, along with her panties, down and off. The adamant kisses found the sensitive inside of one of her thighs, moving higher and higher until Jillian gasped and opened wantonly for him as she felt a finger pushing inside the slick, wet folds of her labia and up into her greedy cunt. Raising her hips, she heard herself moan. Heat spiraled through her body. She had never known anything so erotic. Her eyelashes fluttered open and all she could see in the milky darkness was a glittering mist floating over her skin. Never had she felt as if she were the center of attention in bed. No one had ever set out to please only her. Her whole body tensed when she felt the tip of a warm tongue flicker over her distended clitoris, joining the finger in a relentless, exquisite assault. Strong arms encircled her hips, lifting her, pulling her toward a hot, hungry mouth. Jillian’s fists clenched the covers. She rocked against Benton’s mouth as he explored, licked, sucked, teased. And then it was building inside her, cresting. She was coming. Her breath caught in her chest and she cried out as spasm after earth-shattering spasm racked her body. But there was hardly time to recover before she felt his energy move over her like a whisper-soft breeze. Some unexplainable urgency consumed her and she found herself begging, pleading for more. Her body tingled. It was electric. She grew still and lay there waiting, anticipating, relishing every moment of this strange new experience. Her body became weightless. Amazed, she gasped as it floated inches off the surface of the bed but she hardly had time to protest before the palpable energy caressed her. Hands roamed over and around her as if he had dozens of them instead of only two. The insistence of his mouth came down on hers and she opened for him, tasting the tangy sweetness of her own juices, feeling hard, warm pressure that made her lips tingle. The energy rippled over her whole body until she couldn’t discern exactly what he was doing anymore. She knew she was lost and she no longer cared. All that mattered was this moment, this connection, this exquisite pleasure—this soul. “I want you inside me,” she murmured, gasping as she felt him, huge and hard, gliding inside, encased tightly, deeply within her. Her mind was spinning. Never had she dreamed she could experience such passion, such complete and utter fulfillment in a man’s arms. Fear welled inside her that it was only temporary but she forced it away and concentrated on the incredible energy humming through her body. She could actually feel him plunge and recede time and time again. Was he feeling it too? Desire to please him overwhelmed her and she begged him to manifest. “No, darlin’.” His drawl was thick as honey against her ear. “This is all for you.” And all the while he moved inside her slowly and precisely. Jillian arched beneath him,

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raising her hips so that his body ground against her clit and then his thrusts quickened, urgent and demanding, answering—rivaling—Jillian’s own passion. Her nails dug into the sheets as she felt her passion building once more, taking her higher and higher, erupting inside her until she could hear herself crying out, calling Benton’s name. When the spasms subsided she opened her eyes to discover she was once more on the bed, breathless and limp on the sheets, bathed in the mist of her own perspiration. Her body throbbed with pure pleasure. Wetness trickled down the inside of her thigh. But nagging at her thoughts was the idea she’d let it happen again. She had not risked his safety but after resolving not to risk her own heart, she’d foolishly let it happen again. A soft kiss descended on her lips. Her eyes flew open and there was Benton. Beautiful. Naked. Smiling. Jillian was not smiling.

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Chapter Twelve “What’s the matter?” Benton’s dove gray eyes filled with concern. Jillian searched for words. How could she confess to a ghost she never wanted him to leave? She couldn’t throw that guilt trip on him. Her memory turned back to the revenant ghosts in the cemetery. If Benton didn’t go into the Light then he would always be at risk of being attacked by the soul collectors—of becoming one of those Light-less revenants. Would he risk that for her? Jillian’s gaze sought his. Something in the soft gray pools told her he would. She bit her bottom lip. It didn’t matter. She would never ask him to do such a thing. Never. “Did I hurt you?” He moved languidly inside her. She shook her head. “No.” Briefly she closed her eyes, her mind and body warring with conflicting emotions of how wonderful he felt buried deep inside her and how terribly her heart was breaking. How could he be so caring? So tender? She ached inside. “Jillian?” She opened her eyes. His fingers threaded through the dark hair at her temple while his thumb traced the arch of her eyebrow. “I wish you would tell me what I did wrong.” His breath was feather soft against her ear. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Unable to contain her emotions any longer, a hot tear escaped and coursed down the side of her face. “Then why are you crying?” He slanted his head down and kissed the tear away. It was a gesture that nearly proved to be Jillian’s undoing. A sob caught in her throat. Her whole body became taut. She couldn’t tell him the real reason. Her mind raced and came to a dead stop on the dream about Bruce Bowers. She still couldn’t shake the feeling that the nightmare had portended something—something very, very bad. It was not simply a dream of an event that had happened—it was something Jillian knew in her gut was going to happen. She was going to be to blame for something terrible happening to Benton. “Darlin’, tell me why you’re crying.” “That dream…” Realization turned his expression from tender to bleak. He moved next to her in the bed, making Jillian painfully aware of the absence of the firm intensity of his energy on her body. She felt naked, exposed. With her foot, she pulled up the silvery comforter

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until she caught it with her fingers and then she drew it up just over the swell of her breasts. Benton made no move to cover his own nakedness. Instead, he propped up on one elbow and waited for an explanation. Jillian’s mouth went dry as her gaze raked his long, lean body. His chest was that perfect blend of sturdy muscle and smooth skin—ideal for resting a head on. His stomach was taut but not as ripped as a man who worked out in a gym. His musculature was all natural. She longed to run her palms over it, to trace the fine line of dark, wispy hair that led down to where to his still-hard, still-slick cock protruded arrogantly from a nest of black, black curls. A flutter of desire heated within Jillian’s pussy. She longed to touch him, to— A fingertip caught her chin, interrupting her momentary escape and tilting her face back up so she looked into his eyes once more. Jillian’s cheeks infused with a warm blush. “What about the dream?” This time his drawl was insistent. “Jillian, talk to me.” She took a deep breath before she began. “In it, I was seeing things from Bruce Bowers’ perspective. It was as if I’d killed you, as if I were responsible for your death.” She swallowed. “And I’m afraid it’s going to come…come true.” He drew her into his arms. Strong hands cradled her head. Sensuous lips brushed her forehead. This time his tenderness did prove to be her undoing. A sorrow-filled sob tore from her throat and she was no longer able to contain the torrent of tears that poured from her eyes. “Hush, sweet.” His drawl was heavy with compassion. “You’re tired. You haven’t eaten. Rest, now. Sleep for a little while.” “I can’t. I have to—” A finger to her lips silenced her. “Just for a little while.” He snuggled her even closer. Every fiber of Jillian’s being wanted to succumb, to lie here in his warm, strong embrace. She closed her eyes and gave herself permission to enjoy him for the short time she had left. Surely, it wasn’t that late. There was still time to go the office to look for evidence. Still time…

***** Jillian jolted awake. What time was it? She twisted her head and looked at the clock. 5:45. Damn, she’d overslept. But there was still time. She had to get up. She had to get up now. Throwing off the covers, she dashed out of bed and into the bathroom. Why had Benton let her sleep so long? And where was he? She switched on the shower faucets and paced impatiently as she waited for the water to heat up. “Finally,” she muttered and stepped into the shower. Hastily, she shampooed her hair, shaved all the necessary parts, soaped herself from head to toe,

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rinsed off and then turned off the water. Without taking the time to dry off, she simply wrapped an oversized white towel around her body and finished getting ready in record time. After pulling her dark hair up into a ponytail, she dressed in a pair of winter white slacks and a royal blue silk blouse. A matching white jacket and bone pumps completed her ensemble. She dropped the bronze button into her jacket pocket, patting it for good measure. “Wouldn’t leave home without you, Benton,” she said aloud even though she didn’t detect the static charge of his energy. Amy’s warning loomed in her thoughts but she refused to think about it. She would be smart about this. She wouldn’t put herself in danger. Before she walked out the door, she grabbed a can of diet soda and a cold blueberry toaster pastry to eat on the way. The drive to her office wasn’t that far and took even less time in the sparse morning traffic. Hopefully Lynn wouldn’t suspect that Jillian was on to her. And hopefully, Amy was right about Lynn leaving some sort of proof in her office. She just hoped Amy was wrong about Lynn lying in wait for her. Jillian’s nerves were on edge by the time she parked the Jag in front of the office. All the lights were off, the place completely dark. She swallowed and placed her half-eaten toaster pastry on the passenger seat before she stepped out of the car. She’ll be waiting for you. Amy’s voice repeated the phrase over and over in her head. Still, there was no sign of any other cars. Amy was wrong. Lynn was probably at home asleep in her bed. With trepidation, Jillian walked to the front door and put the key in the lock. Her hand trembled. A car whizzed by on the street behind her. She jerked and spun around but then chided herself. Why was she being so silly? This was her office too. She had every right to be here. But she couldn’t shake the fact that if Lynn was indeed behind this, she was a coldblooded killer. A chill rushed up Jillian’s spine. The door swung open with a creak. Immediately, Jillian flipped on the lights, the cheery glow giving her a false sense of comfort. Her heart hammered in her chest. Still, she proceeded toward Lynn’s office door. She twisted the knob. It was locked. Well, she’d figured that much. What to do? She turned toward Megan’s desk that sat in the center of the reception room. Jillian opened drawers and prowled until she found a tiny screwdriver. Hopefully, this would work. She inserted it into the hole in the doorknob. It resisted and caught and then she gave it a twist. The knob turned. She was in. Her mouth went bone dry. Jillian held her breath as she stood in the open doorway and beheld Lynn’s messy office.

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Files and papers poked out of the filing cabinets. Half-empty coffee cups littered the desk along with vacant candy bar wrappers. Jillian grimaced. “What a pig!” One of those calendars with cheesy motivational sayings in italic font cascading over the face of a too-cute kitten hung on the wall. It was a month out of date. A photograph of Lynn and her son graced the corner of the desk. Jillian picked it up. She’d never met Scott Bowers in person. He looked nothing like Lynn. He stood at least a foot taller than her and she was a big, tall woman. With his shaved head, tank top and dog tag necklace, Jillian guessed he’d been in the military. He certainly didn’t seem like Amy’s type. Jillian couldn’t imagine them dating. However, she couldn’t help but notice the contrast between Scott’s build and Benton’s. Whereas Scott was thick and muscular, Benton was solid but lean. Jillian shivered. Scott had a hardened, fanatical look in his eye that frightened her. And although Jillian was certain of the horrors Benton had witnessed on the battlefield, his eyes still displayed a sense of compassion, of warmth. Jillian had never heard Lynn mention Scott’s father. She’d always gone by her maiden name and Scott went by Bowers as well. Unnerved, Jillian put the picture down and started searching Lynn’s desk for the copied bio or the book that had been stolen from the relic shop. More papers Jillian was certain were unimportant inundated the desk drawers. Pens, paper clips, rubber bands, empty packs of cinnamon gum…everything except the book and the copied pages. The filing cabinet also yielded nothing. Maybe Amy had been wrong. Disappointed, Jillian leaned on the desk and folded her arms across her chest. Her gaze swept the room and came to an abrupt stop on a small white trash bag which was already tied up and sitting near the door waiting to be taken out. She held her breath as she dropped to her knees and furiously untied the knot. The book was in it, alongside the pages Matt Gregory had copied for her! Her hands trembled violently as she held the thick gray book. Jillian closed her eyes, the implications of it all sinking in. Part of her was relieved. She’d discovered enough evidence to link Lynn to the crimes. Another part of her was devastated. Now that she and Amy would be safe, Benton would be free to move into the Light. She opened the book and flipped to the page with Benton’s photograph. Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, she ran her fingertips across the photo. A tear fell onto the yellowed paper. Jillian pursed her lips. This was stupid. She was torturing herself. She had known all along he would have to leave her. Slamming the book shut, she blew out the breath she’d been holding and retrieved her cell phone. Theo answered on the second ring. She sniffed back her tears and composed herself. “Theo, I have evidence linking Lynn Bowers to the crime.”

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“So do I. We traced the call to your house back to your office.” He sounded as if he’d not slept. Jillian was silent for a moment. Her emotions were a mixture of anger and fear. Lynn had called her and threatened her from her own office. The unmitigated gall! “Jillian, you still there?” “Yes. Yes, I’m at my office now,” she said as she opened the cover of the book once more. Matt Gregory’s signature was scrawled inside it. “I found a book in her office she stole from that shop where the clerk was murdered. His name is in it.” “I don’t know how all this ties together but I’ll be right over and you can explain it to me.” “I’ll try my best, Theo.”

***** After Theo arrived and looked at the things Jillian had found, he made a phone call to the Nashville PD and had a warrant put out for Lynn Bowers’ arrest. Relief flooded Jillian but part of her watched the front door with dark anticipation. Amy had been right about finding the evidence in Lynn’s office. Thank God, she’d been wrong about Lynn waiting for her here. But would Lynn have the nerve to walk into the office with Theo’s police cruiser parked out front? Probably. Lynn was exactly that type of woman. But what about Benton? Jillian inhaled deeply and slowly blew out the breath. Benton. In just two short days she had fallen head over heels in love with him—with a ghost—despite all her attempts not to do so. Theo put his phone back on his utility belt. He turned to Jillian, leaned against Lynn’s desk and folded his arms over his massive chest. “I understand that you believe all this has to do with some dead Civil War soldier. Do you mind explaining to me how I’m going to write this up on a police report?” Jillian looked down at the toes of her bone pumps before returning her gaze to Theo’s. “Only Lynn can answer that.” His brow creased. “But why did you suspect she’d murdered Matt Gregory?” “Intuition.” She gave him a wink. Theo gave her a friendly punch in the arm. “I haven’t been able to argue with it so far.”

***** It was mid-morning by the time Theo’s team of investigators was through combing the office for evidence. Lynn had not made an appearance. So far, they hadn’t found her at her home either, but an officer had been stationed outside to watch for her.

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Jillian nibbled on some peanut butter crackers but she knew she wouldn’t rest easy until the woman was in custody. A tumult of emotions surfaced within her. She felt betrayed that someone she had once trusted could be so unstable. When she thought of Amy being buried alive, her stomach twisted into an angry knot. And for Lynn to have mailed photographs of the grisly scene to Theo… The woman was psychotic. There was no other explanation. How could she have been so blind to it? She’d worked with Lynn for three years. Certainly, Lynn was loud and overbearing but that was simply her personality. Jillian bit her bottom lip to keep from uttering an unladylike stream of curse words. She shook her head. Apparently, Lynn’s desire to cover up Bruce Bowers’ crimes had overridden her sanity. It was crazy. It didn’t make sense. For God’s sake, it happened nearly one hundred fifty years ago. What did it matter now? She took in a deep breath and blew it out. Benton. There was still the matter of Benton she couldn’t seem to come to terms with. A memory of his energy, fluid and unrelenting, invaded her thoughts. No man had ever made her feel the way Benton did. How could she let him go? How? She squeezed her eyes shut to prevent herself from crying. He would be gone soon. Very soon. Her heart turned over hard. She couldn’t just sit here and wait any longer. And she couldn’t just sit here and brood about Benton. “Megan, if you need me, call my cell,” she said to her bewildered receptionist as she snatched up her purse and headed for the Jag. She opened the door and slid into the beige leather seat. At least here in her car, she had some control. The engine hummed to life when she switched on the ignition and Jillian pulled into traffic. She had every intention of driving straight to the hospital and returning the button to Amy so she could send Benton to the Light but she was halfway down Murphreesboro Road before she realized where she was going.

***** Jillian pulled to a stop and switched off the Jag’s engine. She stared at the faded No Trespassing sign nailed to the aluminum cattle gate with trepidation. What force had brought her here? When she stepped out of the car, a chill swept her spine. Her gaze rested on a weathered, whitewashed house nestled amongst the overgrown trees and bushes. She didn’t need a historical marker to know this had been Benton’s house. The knowledge he’d lived here, had grown up here, had probably even been born here, warmed her insides. Somehow, seeing material aspects of his life made him seem more real, more present. A sense of melancholy tugged at her heart. He’d once enjoyed the company of a family who’d loved him. An image of a courier bringing the news of his death rose up

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in her mind and caused a hard knot to constrict her throat. If only she could go back and change things… But then she would never have known him. The gate wasn’t locked. Jillian undid the latch and pushed it open. Did she dare go inside? She took a deep breath to steel herself. How could she not go in? The house was only one story. It was hardly what she would have imagined for a Civil War brigadier general. Two rock chimneys rose on either side. One remaining shutter hung loose from its hinge, at one time it had been green but now it was faded with time and age. The white paint had seen better days. Now, it peeled and flaked, clinging tenaciously to the weathered old boards. Jillian’s heart twisted. She picked up her way up a stone path and walked up the three stairs to the porch. The boards groaned ominously under her weight. She pulled open the black screen door but a padlock on the wooden door behind it prevented her from going inside. Dismayed, she put her hands against a glass-paned window and peered inside. A solitary wooden chair stood sentinel in the center of the room. Had Benton ever sat in that chair in his ghostly form? A cold, empty hearth graced the wall between two windows on the side. Jillian drew in a deep breath and when she blew it out, the window fogged. A loud thud startled her. She gasped and her gaze shot in the direction of the noise. The padlock lay on the porch. The hinges groaned as the door opened. Jillian wet her lips with her tongue. “Benton?” Inquisitive, she walked through the open door. “Benton?” A chill pervaded the old house. She shivered as she explored the rooms. The floorboards creaked and her footsteps echoed throughout the house. “Benton? Are you here?” Faded floral wallpaper peeled from the walls. Here and there, plaster had fallen from the high ceiling, exposing the ancient beams. A sudden flutter made her gasp and Jillian spun in time to see a mourning dove flit from the attic to another room. It saddened her to see Benton’s home in such disrepair but at the same time, knowing she was in the space where he’d lived prior to the war thrilled her. She walked through the spacious rooms back toward the front parlor. Something about the fire-darkened brick hearth drew her attention. Heels resounding, she crossed the room. Two rusted dog irons sat in the fireplace amidst age-old ashes. Jillian kneeled and there, scratched deep into the bricks were the initials JMS and TBS. Thomas Benton and John Smith.

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Jillian ran her fingertip across the T. She had psychically known he’d lived here. Now, her intuition had been validated. A wistful smile claimed her lips and she stood. Two big hands encircled her shoulders. She would have been startled had she not been expecting it. Warm lips tasted the sensitive cool flesh of the curve of her neck. Jillian’s stomach tightened. She leaned her head to the side to give him greater access and as he kissed her, chill bumps skittered down her body. His hands skimmed around her waist where they reached under her white jacket and glided over the blue silk to possessively cup her breasts. Jillian’s breath left her body in an audible rush. The tension melted out of her. Sudden desire slowed her pulse to a heavy throb. She needed this. She needed him. Once more. Heat flooded her body. Her pussy grew wet and ready. She slid her own hand downward and cupped herself through her clothes. She was steamy hot. Her panties were wet and sticky. She wanted out of these clothes. Now. His mouth nibbled insistently at her neck, moving slightly upward until he found a spot that made her squirm in his arms. An earthy groan escaped her lips and when he pulled her back against him, she felt his rock-hard arousal press into the small of her back. One of his hands moved down to cover hers and he guided them both to cup her pussy tightly. His other hand slid around the front of her neck and he drew her back so the shell of her ear pressed against his hot mouth. “I’m going to fuck you, Jillian.” White-hot desire flooded her abdomen. She gasped. “Yes.” Her voice was but a silken breath. She felt as if she were melting in his arms and suddenly, he was walking her toward the single chair. She could feel his hand between them undoing his trousers. Jillian furiously unhooked, unbuttoned and unzipped her own before Benton pushed her slacks and panties down to her knees and bent her over the chair. Wildly aroused, she clung to the rickety spindles and propped one knee on the seat as she felt his fingers slide along her cleft, finding her wet and so, so ready for him. She wanted him inside her. She wanted his cock in her cunt so badly she ached. Her pants prevented her from spreading her legs wider. She whimpered her frustration but it was short-lived. Benton’s other hand drifted around the sensitive skin of her tummy and he braced her while his exploring fingers delved inside her drenched pussy. Jillian shook with need. She thought she’d die if he didn’t fuck her now. Her forehead dropped to the chair back and she clung, pressing her bottom back against his hand, shifting her heels on the floor for stability. Somehow, she knew he wasn’t intent on making her come this way. He was only checking to see if she was ready. And she was.

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His fingers withdrew and she sucked in a breath as she felt the head of his cock slip through her slick cleft and then push through her opening, thrusting inside her. He had his hands on her hips now, his thumbs and fingers digging into her soft flesh, holding her tightly as he began to furiously rock himself against her, intent on mutual satisfaction. Jillian delighted in the sound and feel of his body slapping against hers. In this position, she could feel every inch of him recede and thrust over and over, faster and faster. She gripped the chair hard but the legs slid inch by inch, grating on the wooden floor and pulling her along with it. “Fuck me…hard.” Her voice echoed through the empty house, her words sounding wanton to her own ears. At Jillian’s blatant encouragement, Benton hung onto her hips and continued his ruthless assault. She arched her back and pressed against him, working the angle so that his balls slapped hard against her clit. She tightened. She couldn’t be coming yet. Not yet. She wanted this to last longer. Forever. But her body had a mind of its own. The sensations surged and, like a current, coursed through her body. “Goddamn…” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m coming!” Her knees would have buckled and she would have wilted against the chair but Benton’s hold on her hips tightened and as the waves receded in her body, she felt him pulsing deep inside her, his groin pressed so snugly against her, she could actually feel the spasms of his cock. His breath left his body in a ragged rush. His grip on her hips tightened and then released. And then he vanished. Trembling, Jillian twisted and sank onto the chair. The seat was cool to her bare bottom and her trousers were pooled around her ankles but she didn’t care. She was mindless and sated and filled with such lust and love for Benton she only wanted to sit and bask in the joy she knew was only temporary. Why did it feel as if every time they made love might be the last time? A lump welled in her throat but she refused to think about the fact he’d be leaving her. She couldn’t think about it now. Not after that damn good fucking he’d just given her. After a few minutes, her body chilled and she reached down to hike up her slacks before she stood. Her hands shook as she zipped and fastened. Her gaze darted around the empty room. “Benton?” He was nowhere to be seen but she knew he was near. A little laugh bubbled up out of her chest and she bit her bottom lip. She couldn’t believe what they’d just done. A rush of wetness drenched her panties and she rubbed her hand over her still quivering pussy, delighting in the feel of wetness between her legs.

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Still shaking, she took one staggering step toward the door. She’d come so hard she could hardly walk. Another laugh erupted from her chest but once again, a dark thought rose in her thoughts. She would soon have to give the button to Amy and Benton would be forever gone. There was one more place she wanted to go—one more place where there was something tangible that had belonged to Benton.

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Chapter Thirteen Jillian sat in the turn lane and stared at the little green sign with an arrow pointing to the Sam Davis Museum. Matt Gregory had told her Benton’s sword was there. At the time, it seemed like a piece of interesting information. But now… Now with Benton’s departure to the Other Side imminent, Jillian wanted to see the physical things that belonged to him. Her mind raced over their clandestine encounter at his home. Her body tightened with memory. Her cheeks warmed with a blush when she recalled how willingly she’d bent herself over that chair. Wistful, she turned onto the long gravel drive that led up to the Sam Davis home and museum. Everyone in this area knew the legend well. Young Sam had been hanged as a spy by the Federals during the Civil War. No doubt, Benton had known him. A single Ford pickup was parked outside the nicely kept museum building. Jillian parked the Jag, got out and went inside. A man sporting a long, wooly brown beard sat behind the desk. Dressed in jeans, a plaid shirt, suspenders and wearing wire-framed round glasses, he had the look of a weekend reenactor about him. “Good afternoon,” Jillian greeted. “Would you by any chance be the curator?” He stood. “Yes, ma’am, I would. Name’s Andrew Jackson.” Jillian tried in vain to suppress a smile. “Andrew Jackson?” “Yep. Just like the president. My momma had a weird sense of humor.” He gave her a broad grin. She extended her hand. “I’m Jillian Drew. I’m a profiler for the Nashville PD.” His grin faded. “This about Matt?” “Yes,” Jillian said hesitantly. She had not intended to use her position as leverage to see the sword but Matt had offered… “That was a terrible thing. Matt was a good ol’ fella, despite his shenanigans.” “Shenanigans?” “Oh yeah,” Andrew said. “He was banned from practically every historic site in the area.” “Banned? Why?” Jillian recalled Matt’s black eye. “A long list of stuff. He turned one historic site in for not cataloging their museum pieces properly. And at another one, he threatened a guy.” He stopped and scratched his goatee. “Oh, and there was all that stuff about saving the Franklin battlefield. He knew more about the Army of Tennessee than anybody I ever saw, but he was militant 102

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about preserving that land. I think he even did some time for setting the Pizza Hut on fire they built on the site where Pat Cleburne was killed.” He shook his head. “Nice fella most of the time…but I’m not surprised somebody did him in.” “I’m not sure any of that had anything to do with why he was killed.” “Really?” “I think it had something to do with a Civil War officer named Thomas Benton Smith.” Even uttering his name sent a warm tingle down Jillian’s spine—and a sharp pain straight to her heart. Andrew rocked back on his heels proudly and hooked his thumbs under his red suspenders. “We have Benton Smith’s sword on display here.” Jillian drew in a sharp breath. “May…may I see it?” “Of course. It’s back here in the museum.” Her knees went weak as she followed Andrew into the museum. Various muskets, rifles and swords gleamed behind acrylic cases illuminated by strategically placed spotlights. Beige plaques identified each item and, in most cases, to whom it had belonged. Jillian craned her neck to see if she could tell which sword was Benton’s without reading the marker. But it was glaringly obvious which one was his. The same three-by-five photograph of him Jillian had seen in the book peered at her from behind the glass. Her mouth went dry. Her lips resisted drawing into a smile. Staring back at her from the sepia-toned photograph was the man who’d just fucked the hell out of her. “This is it, right here,” Andrew said and stepped back. “Tragic story. Tragic.” He shook his head. “But I can’t figure why he has anything to do with Matt being murdered.” “I believe it had to do with B— With Smith’s…death.” She stopped herself just short of calling him Benton. “Yes,” Andrew said and stroked his beard in thought. “You know he was killed with this sword.” Jillian stared at it. The point was fractured, just as she’d seen in her vision. A violent shudder swept through her. The handle was rough, worn. Jillian brushed her fingertips across the slick acrylic. This had been his. He had carried it in battle. She’d even seen the ghost of it suspended from his belt. But Andrew Jackson was wrong about how Benton had died. The awful nightmare memory of looking through Bruce Bowers’ eyes assailed her. Jillian flinched. “I think Matt may have believed there was something more to Smith’s murder than was recorded in history.” Andrew gave a derisive chuckle. “Ol’ Matt was always one to have some addlebrained theory about this or that soldier.” His gaze went from the sword to Jillian. “These things are heavy. Have you ever handled one?” 103

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She shook her head. Producing a funny-looking key from his pocket, he opened the case. Jillian’s heart soared. Was he actually going to let her hold it? Her breath froze in her chest. She felt like a child at Christmas. She stopped herself short of bouncing up and down. She didn’t want to appear too eager. Andrew reached into a nearby box and withdrew two pairs of white gloves. “Put these on, if you don’t mind.” He pulled a pair of the gloves over his big hands. Jillian watched in anticipation as he lifted the sword. She set her purse on the floor and hurriedly slipped on her pair of gloves. “This sword was made right here in Nashville. See the maker’s mark?” He pointed to where the letters were faintly etched in the steel. “But this one doesn’t have CSA on it. He most likely got it when he was in military school. That would have been an expensive gift for a young man from his station in life. Here, try it out.” With that, he dumped it into her hands. Jillian took it by the hilt. It was heavy. Very heavy. She couldn’t imagine walking around with it attached to her, much less possessing the strength it took to wield it in battle. “Run your finger along the blade.” She did. “Notice it’s not sharp? Back then, it was considered dishonorable to sharpen your sword. They used these things more for skewering and holding a piece of meat over a fire than anything else.” Jillian couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Benton sitting around a campfire chatting with his men. Briefly, she shut her eyes. Her hair retained the scent of wood fires and that heady masculinity which belonged only to Benton. She inhaled. A bell sounded and Andrew looked up. “That’ll be someone at the door. Take your time. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared around the corner. Gratitude welled inside Jillian. She could scarcely believe she was holding Benton’s sword. This had belonged to him. He had carried it. She brought the hilt up to her nose and breathed in the scent as if some essence of him lingered after all these years. It smelled of a curious mixture of old leather and steel and the scent left a metallic taste on Jillian’s tongue. A shudder rippled up her spine when she ran her gloved finger along the cold, dull blade. She examined the rough, damaged point. In her mind, she saw the Federal colonel, eyes blazing, bringing the sword down on Benton’s head—a blow meant for Bruce Bowers. Something inside Jillian twisted. She pressed her lips together tightly. Had Benton loved Hattie Cooke so much he gave his own life to save his murderer’s?

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But then, she recalled what Benton had said just last night when she had asked him if he still loved Hattie. Not in the same way. Not now. A flutter passed through her stomach. Jillian wondered if it meant he could possibly love her. She swallowed. No. She was reading too much into it. He was a ghost, a spirit. He was dead. He wasn’t capable of such emotions. But he’d certainly been capable of making love to me. Jillian blushed at her own thoughts—and her own foolishness. And then, a reverberating explosion nearly scared her out of her skin. Jillian jumped. Clutching the hilt of the sword in both hands, she whirled. Lynn Bowers barred the doorway with her big body. In her hand was a pistol, a wisp of smoke still curling from the barrel. Jillian gasped. Comprehension flooded her. Terror immobilized her. Lynn had shot the museum curator—and she was going to shoot her too. Her nails dug into the leather casing on the sword’s hilt through the gloves. Adrenaline raced through her veins. Her heart beat like a drum. There was no sense in being coy. Lynn knew. Her eyes brightened arrogantly. “Hand over that button.” Jillian swallowed. Her heart was pumping in huge, erratic bursts. “I gave the button back to Theo.” Her voice was but a frightened whisper. Lynn waved the pistol at her. “You’re lying.” Jillian took a deep breath. “The police are on to you, Lynn. There’s already a warrant out for your arrest.” She was attempting to reason with her but Jillian quickly reminded herself that this woman had already killed and would kill again. The only thing she could do was keep her talking while her mind raced for a way out. “You don’t want to do this.” Lynn laughed maniacally. “You have no idea what I’m doing. None. Your sister had a clue and when I’m done with you, I’ll go back and shut her up for good too.” Jillian’s breaths were coming in shallow, panting gulps of air. “Don’t you think you at least owe me an explanation?” Lynn glanced over her shoulder and then back at Jillian. Her red lips pulled into a tight smile. “Nothing would have happened to her if it hadn’t been for him.” “Him? What do you mean? Who are you talking about?” But Jillian knew full well who she was talking about. “Your Gatekeeper.” Lynn lifted her chin. “Thomas Benton Smith.” Jillian shrank back. “I thought she’d already released him until Theo told me you stole the button. I knew for sure when you found her.” Lynn laughed again. Jillian blinked. She was crazy. “And…and what about the soul collectors? How did you know about them?”

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“You don’t think you and your sister are the only psychics in town, do you?” She took a step closer. Instinctively, Jillian took a step back. Her grip tightened on the sword. Perspiration rolled down her back between her shoulder blades. Lynn went on. “I’m well acquainted with the soul collectors.” She lunged forward. Her eyes widened wildly. “Boo!” Jillian screamed and jumped back. Lynn laughed hysterically. “And when I’m done with Benton Smith, he will be too.” Jillian groped for something to say to keep her talking. “What about the pictures? Why did you send those?” “You’re not as smart as I gave you credit for,” Lynn said. “When I realized the button was missing, I went to Shy’s Hill myself but the police were already all over the place. I couldn’t just walk up there and take it. And I sure didn’t think you’d have the balls to do it.” Jillian was beginning to understand. Lynn went on. “I had to send those pictures to know how involved you were. Of course, Amy never mentioned if you knew anything about that bastard Smith. But I knew you had the same ability she has. It may not be as good, but I figured you were psychic enough to determine the button was the key to Amy’s disappearance. The soul collectors getting after your Gatekeeper—well, that was my plan from the beginning. What I can’t understand is why they didn’t get him.” Her gaze dropped to Jillian’s pockets and then came back up again. “I want that button.” So, Lynn had orchestrated all this merely to offer Benton up to the soul collectors? Why? Jillian inhaled sharply. She took a step backward. “What about the hair on the door? Why did you tape Amy’s hair to the door?” Lynn’s forehead furrowed. “Hair? What hair?” She’d been forthcoming with everything else. Why was she lying about taping Amy’s hair to her front door? “You’re stalling—Psych 101. Give me the button, Jillian.” There was only one way Lynn would get that button now—over her dead body. “I don’t have it. I told you I gave it—” Another deafening shot rang out, echoing in the room. The bullet whizzed past Jillian’s ear and struck the wall behind her. She gasped. Her ears rang. “I know damn well you wouldn’t give it back to Theo and risk loosing your precious Gatekeeper,” she sneered. “What…what do you want with it?” “I’m going to make certain Benton Smith pays for what he did to my greatgrandmother.”

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Jillian tried to play dumb. “What did he do?” “You don’t know?” Jillian shook her head. She was trembling. “After Smith broke off their engagement, she married my great-grandfather, Bruce Bowers. But she never got over Benton Smith. She went crazy. She ran away and they found her at Shy’s Hill, digging in the dirt one night looking for a button, and after she told them she’d seen Smith’s ghost, they locked her up in the insane asylum.” Jillian blew out a breath. Pity rose up inside her for Hattie because she, Jillian, knew what it was to be in love with Benton Smith. And no doubt, in addition to everything else, Hattie felt guilty for his death. “When your sister told me she’d found that button at Shy’s Hill and was going to send that bastard into the Light, well…you see, I just couldn’t let that happen.” “But Lynn, people just didn’t understand about psychics like us back then.” She was trying every trick she’d learned in psychology about dealing with a criminal. “It wasn’t Benton’s fault. It wasn’t Hattie’s fault either.” Lynn’s eyes narrowed. “So he’s told you about her. You know.” “I…I saw a letter she wrote to him, at the library. That’s all I know.” Lynn pursed her lips together. She was shaking. She held the pistol with both hands to steady it. “Do you believe we get a second chance?” Jillian’s brow creased. What did she mean? She stared. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She tried to sound patient, in control—but she knew full well she was anything but in control at the moment. Why wouldn’t someone come in? Why wouldn’t the phone ring, anything to distract Lynn? “I’m talking about reincarnation.” Oh God, thought Jillian. Did Lynn believe she was the reincarnation of Hattie Cooke? If she did, then she was crazier than Jillian had first suspected. “I don’t know anything about that,” Jillian said carefully. “Amy believes it.” “Amy and I haven’t always seen eye to eye on the paranormal.” Lynn’s voice changed. It became hard and cold. “Yes. She told me all about that.” Jillian felt a pang of jealousy and remorse that she didn’t have as close a relationship with Amy as she had imagined. She stopped her thoughts in their tracks. That was exactly what Lynn wanted her to think. She blinked. She had to stay focused, to keep the attention on Lynn. “Tell me what you believe about reincarnation.” She tried to sound composed despite the fact Lynn was holding a gun on her and despite the fact she held a one hundred fifty-year-old sword in her hands. It was getting heavy. Her biceps and shoulders ached and burned from the strain. Lynn’s red lips pulled into a tight line. “I believe that if we leave things unfinished in one life, we have a chance to finish them in the next.”

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“Is that what you’re doing? Finishing something from a past life?” “Oh no. Not me.” Jillian didn’t understand. “But…don’t you believe you were Hattie Cooke?” Lynn burst into an insane bout of laughter. “Are you out of your mind? No, I wasn’t Hattie Cooke, you fool.” A moan came from the other room. Andrew was still alive. Jillian wondered how badly hurt he was. “Listen, Lynn. That man in there needs help. Let’s call an ambulance.” She held the sword with one hand and started to reach down for her purse with the other. “Stop right there.” Lynn stepped forward and aimed the pistol directly at her.

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Chapter Fourteen “Don’t touch that!” Lynn was becoming agitated. Impatient. She took a few steps closer, now only a couple feet from Jillian, her arm extended and the gun aimed right at Jillian’s chest. Jillian was at the end of her rope. All she could do now was beg. “Lynn, don’t do this. You don’t want to have to repeat this in another life. Theo already knows about the clerk at the relic shop. Don’t add another murder to the list.” “Give her the button, Jillian.” Benton appeared behind Lynn. Jillian gasped. Lynn’s eyes grew wide but she didn’t turn around. Her spine stiffened. Jillian’s gaze locked with Benton’s. She shook her head. “No. She wants to give you up to the soul collectors.” “Give her the button.” His voice was calm. His expression was ruthless. “Yes, give it to me!” Lynn’s voice rose sharply. Jillian looked from Lynn to Benton, where she found silent encouragement in his gaze. Lynn noticed the unspoken exchange. “I’ll kill her, Benton. I swear I will!” A sudden feeling of courage swept through Jillian. “Then go ahead and do it, you coward!” Anger for what she had done to Amy and for what she was attempting to do to Benton sparked in her veins and fueled her fury. “Do it!” She was amazed at the power in her own voice. Lynn stared. Her face drained of color. “Jillian…” Benton’s voice was filled with warning. “Do it—because I will never give you the button.” This time her voice was calm, even. Jillian’s breath came in short pants. She shook. Lynn’s eyes narrowed. Her mouth formed a long, thin line. Her finger tightened around the trigger. Jillian’s eyes widened. Lynn was really going to shoot her. Her breath froze in her lungs. Her gaze riveted to Benton’s. As if in slow motion, Jillian watched as Lynn squeezed the trigger and as the gun went off, Benton pushed Lynn hard. Reflexively, Jillian’s hands came up, still clutching the sword. She squeezed her eyes shut and twisted her head as she felt Lynn’s weight propelled onto the tip of the sword. Resistance gave way and Jillian felt the hilt of the sword press into Lynn’s belly as she slammed hard against the floor with Lynn skewered on top of her.

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Blood gurgled up from Lynn’s mouth. Her eyes grew impossibly wide, the irises completely black, unfocused. Jillian gasped. An animalistic moan emitted from somewhere deep inside Lynn. She sputtered and then her head lolled lifelessly to the side. Jillian relinquished the sword and scrambled backward. Her arm stung like crazy. She felt as if someone had slugged her in the biceps. Hard. Her gaze caught the crimson stain on the snowy gloves. Blood. Jillian stared in horror and screamed. Oh God, she’d killed Lynn. She’d killed her! Her stare was riveted to the bloody gloves. That nagging pain still burned in her arm. She glanced down. More blood. She’d been shot. Blackness washed over her. Her head started to spin. “Jillian!” Benton’s voice was urgent. He was on his knees beside her. A strong arm was around her back, laying her gently to the floor. Her eyes met his. “Are you all right?” Concern was evident on his face. “Jillian, talk to me.” She opened her mouth to speak but no sound would come out. “Jillian…” His voice seemed far away although she knew he was holding her. It was as if she were looking at him through a tunnel. Lynn’s grinning ghost became visible behind him. All of a sudden, the soul collectors materialized out of the ether. Eyes glowing, mouths watering, they loomed toward Benton’s back. Jillian tried to scream. She tried to point but her hand was heavy. Numb. And Benton seemed so far away. So far… And then everything went black.

***** Jillian abruptly regained consciousness when she got the pungent ammonia whiff of smelling salts. She gasped. A paramedic kneeled beside her. “Ms. Drew?” Another paramedic was putting a blanket over her. “You’re going to be all right,” he said. “You were grazed with a bullet.” She twisted her head. Benton. Where was Benton? But what she saw was Lynn Bowers’ crumpled heap of a body. Jillian jolted. “It’s all right, Ms. Drew. Lie still.” And then Theo’s big frame darkened the doorway. He took everything in and then rushed to Jillian’s side. “What in the hell happened here?”

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Her mind was still fuzzy but she realized she wasn’t hurt too badly. “Is Andrew all right?” she managed. “He’ll be fine. He took a bullet to the chest. He’s on the way to the hospital now,” one of the paramedics said. Theo’s gaze swiveled to the paramedics and he pointed a long, mocha-colored finger at Jillian. “Is she gonna be all right?” “Yeah,” the paramedic said. “She was just grazed and is in mild shock.” “Who made the 9-1-1 call?” The paramedic shrugged. “We assumed it was the old man.” Theo’s hands found his hips. He stared at Lynn’s corpse and swallowed hard. “Jillian, did you…did you kill her?” Jillian’s head cleared. She recalled every horrid, vivid detail. “Yes. She must have followed me here. She shot the museum director and then came after me. She must have…she must have stumbled or something because she fell on the sword. I didn’t mean to kill her. I…” She suddenly recalled Lynn’s ghost and the soul collectors looming up behind Benton. Her heart stuck in her throat. Her gaze darted around the room. Neither of them was here now. Oh God, had the soul collectors taken Benton? Her heart began to race. A sob caught in her chest. Why had she passed out? Why couldn’t she have hung on and helped him fight them? “I’ve got to go.” She tried to get up but her head swam. A nauseous wave threatened to make her sick. Theo kneeled beside her. He gave her a comforting pat on the leg. “It’s all right. You be still. I’ll handle this.” Jillian was shaking. She tried to sit up again but the paramedic put a hand on her chest. “Lie still, Ms. Drew. We’re going to move you to a stretcher.” One helped her off with the gloves and then her bloodstained jacket. Jillian recalled the button was in the pocket. “No,” she protested. She seized it in her hand and refused to let it go. After what seemed like an eternity of being picked, prodded, bandaged and forced to breathe through an oxygen mask, she became impatient. She shooed the paramedics away. “I’m fine now.” She wanted to find Benton, to make certain he was all right. She pushed to a sitting position. Her arm stung where she’d been nicked with the bullet. “Jillian, are you sure you should be…” She didn’t listen to the rest of Theo’s protests. Instead, she flung off the blanket and tried to get up. Her white pants were spattered with blood. Her shoes were ruined.

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Jillian gagged but managed to suppress her meager breakfast of diet soda and blueberry toaster pastry. Still, she was unable to tear her gaze away from the sight of Lynn’s crumpled body. The bloody shaft of the sword protruded abhorrently from her back. Benton’s sword. Her dyed blonde hair lay matted in a pool of her own blood. A group of crime scene investigators were already combing Lynn’s corpse. The pistol lay underneath her. One of the investigators pushed Lynn’s bright orange knit top up to examine the wound. “Captain Carter, look at this.” Jillian gasped when she saw the two hand-shaped bruises on Lynn’s back. Benton had manifested. Fully. Again. And now he was at risk of being taken by the soul collectors because he had protected her. Panic caused her to shake uncontrollably. Fear tightened her stomach into a hard knot. “I’ve got to go, Theo.” Her voice came out sounding strange, unwell. One of the paramedics intervened. “Ma’am, you need to go to the hospital. Let us take you.” Theo eyed her. “Who pushed her? Jillian, who was here with you?” “Nobody.” She felt sick. “I need to go. I really need to go now, Theo.” Desperately, she looked into his eyes. His expression grew soft, relenting. “Jillian, let me drive you.” She balked. “No. I’m fine.” She took a staggering step backward. “I’m fine.” This time her voice was commanding but still had an unsteady quality. She snatched her purse off the floor and began searching for her keys. “I’m going home. I’m tired. If you need me, that’s where I’ll be.” “I wish you’d let me drive you,” Theo repeated. “No.” She looked him in the eye. “I’m fine. I’m just a little shaken up is all. I just want to go home and get out of these clothes.” Theo handed her a plastic bag from the crime scene investigation kit. “Do you mind bagging those after you take them off? I’ll come pick them up later.” She nodded, feeling a little more certain on her feet. “Are you sure?” Theo’s brown eyes were wide with concern. “Yeah, Theo. I’ll be okay.” But as soon as she stepped out into the brisk November air, she wretched up what little she had eaten. When she was done, she wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve and all but fell into her car. Lynn’s white Chevy Blazer sat parked in the next space. Jillian shuddered at the memory of the horrible scene. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her head, to take a deep breath. She needed to concentrate on Benton. Seizing her jacket, she groped through the pockets. An uprising of panic surged but then her fingers closed around the hard, cold

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metal. She blew out a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” she said out loud. “Benton, where are you? Where are you?” But she heard nothing except Amy’s words in her head. Don’t let him manifest to you again. I have a bad feeling about this. She recalled the awful nightmare in which she had felt responsible for Benton’s demise. God, what had she done?

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Chapter Fifteen Amy gasped in horror when Jillian burst into her hospital room wearing the bloody white pants and shoes. Her silk blouse had been ripped open at the sleeve and a wide white bandage gleamed through the gaping hole. Jillian’s ponytail had fallen around her face in a commotion of unruly dark waves. “What the—” But Jillian didn’t give her time to ask for an explanation. Terror coursed through her veins. Her mind offered up frightening images of Benton, soulless, hollow. Jillian was trembling from head to toe. She thrust the button toward Amy. “Find him. Find him for me.” Just seeing her sister caused the panic she had staved off on the drive to the hospital to surge again. A hard, tight knot rose in her throat. Tears stung her eyes. She felt weak and sick and thought she might faint all over again. Amy flew out of the bed and somehow managed to handle the IV caddy and Jillian at the same time. Jillian allowed Amy to help her to the bed. She sat and buried her face in her hands. Her breaths were short and shallow. “Oh God, oh God,” she moaned over and over. Amy stroked her hair. “Talk to me, Jill.” Her voice was feather soft and filled with compassion. Jillian lifted her head. Her gaze slammed into Amy’s. She was trembling violently. “I think something has happened to Benton.” “What?” Amy looked bewildered. “What happened to you?” Jillian’s hands shook violently as she stared at the button. “Amy, take it. Find Benton for me. Please.” Amy searched Jillian’s eyes and then she took the bronze button in her hand. “Tell me what happened.” “I…I killed Lynn.” Amy gasped. “I killed her and…and then I saw her…her spirit and…the soul collectors…” Fresh tears spilled unchecked from her eyes. “Lynn tried to shoot me and…and Benton manifested to push her out of the way…and I think the soul collectors got him.” She sobbed in between words. Amy’s gaze searched her face. “What…what will happen to him if they did?” There was no hope in Amy’s blue eyes. None.

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“Tell me,” Jillian demanded. Acute guilt stabbed her in the gut. It was her fault. It was all her fault. Amy had warned her and she hadn’t listened. “Dammit, Amy. Tell me!” Amy swallowed. “If it happened then…then his spirit will be stuck here, trapped for eternity between heaven and earth.” Hopeless, Jillian closed her eyes. Her head sank. “What have I done?” “Jill, let me see if I can find him. If he fought them, then his energy is probably weak.” Amy’s calm voice gave her a glimmer of hope. Jillian watched with bated breath as Amy closed her hand around the button and inhaled deeply. Her breath froze. What was she getting? Was Benton safe? Or had he succumbed to the soul collectors? Her heart beat wildly in her chest. She wanted to ask a hundred questions but she remained silent, afraid of breaking Amy’s trance. Amy wet her lips. She took another deep breath and let it out slowly. She shook her head. After what seemed like an eternity, she opened her eyes. “Where is he?” Amy swallowed with difficulty. “I’m not getting anything.” Jillian’s whole body started to shake. She was heartsick, violently so. “Give me your hand,” Amy said. Confused, Jillian put her cold, cold hand in Amy’s warm one. They held the button together. “Open, Jillian. You can do it. Open yourself. Ask for vibrations of him.” Panic surged. “I can’t. I can’t do this. I’m afraid of what I’ll see.” “You have to.” Amy’s voice was laced with uncharacteristic authority. “He’s your Gatekeeper. You have the connection to his energy. Now open yourself and look.” Jillian’s chest rose and fell with deep gulping breaths of air. Fear rendered her immobile. “Do it, Jill. Would you rather not know?” No. She could never get past this if she didn’t know. With resolve, Jillian closed her eyes and, trembling, she mentally asked some power she didn’t even comprehend for vibrations of Benton. The pictures in her mind flashed at lightning speed, showing her the first image she’d had of him at Shy’s Hill, her first encounter with him at Amy’s house, the sight of him battling the soul collectors in the cemetery, making love to him in her bed, the awful scene at the museum. She was tingling from head to toe. But it was a soft energy, not his usual bristling static charge. Joy and love filled her heart and the energy intensified. She felt her lips pulling up into a smile. She inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and then let it out along with all the tension in her body. Her eyes flew open.

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Benton stood in front of her. Jillian’s heart leapt. Her chest rose and fell with each breath of relief. He was all right. Silently, she said a brief prayer of gratitude. Although he was tremendously transparent, she could still see his features. He looked as if he’d taken part in a barroom brawl. Several bloody scratches were etched into his cheek. His knuckles were scraped raw and bruised. Jillian hadn’t been aware a spirit could experience bodily pain—until now. Her heart went out to him. She yearned to console him, to feel him in her arms. Anxiously, she tore her hand from Amy’s and reached for him but her hand slipped through. Frustration rose. “He can’t manifest right now, Jillian,” Amy said gently. “It’s only your energy that’s even holding him in this visible state.” “My energy?” Jillian asked, her gaze never leaving Benton’s. “Are you all right?” she asked, her voice cracking. The dimple at the corner of his mouth appeared. “Me? I learned in the army when to retreat.” His voice sounded reed thin and far away. But his expression turned to one of concern. “What about you, darlin’? Are you hurt?” “I’ll be all right,” she said, her voice but a hoarse whisper. “Now.” She was elated. He gave her a nod. “It ain’t no fun takin’ a bullet for the cause, is it?” His sexy drawl was laced with humor. But all Jillian could do was stare. With his unruly black waves and half-unbuttoned frock coat, he was handsome even in his roughed-up state. She wished she could touch him, comfort him, but she understood the danger in that. Amy cleared her throat. “Will one of you two tell me what happened?” “Your sister here ran that ol’ gal through who tried to kill you.” Some odd look of pride glimmered in his gray gaze. Amy’s mouth fell open. “What?” Jillian nodded and gave Amy a more detailed summary of being attacked and killing Lynn. Amy looked guilty. A big fat tear rolled down her cheek. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t told Lynn…” “No, Amy. Lynn was crazy. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.” Jillian pulled her sister into a hug. Amy swiped her tears away with her fingers. “I’m sorry.” She sniffed and composed herself and then looked up at Benton. “I guess it’s time for me to finish what I started and send you to the Light.” Jillian froze. Benton stared. “Give me the button, Jill.”

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Jillian swallowed. She was in a state of shock. So soon? Did it have to happen now? Dread knotted her stomach. Her heart twisted. She’d known it was going to happen. She knew it had to happen. She’d been out of her mind with worry that the soul collectors had stolen the life from his spirit and left him no more than a hollow apparition. But…did he have to go now? Benton’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath of resignation. What was he thinking? Was he ready to go? He looked like a man who was about to go to the gallows. Jillian wet her lips with her tongue. Of course he was ready to go. He’d waited for this moment for one hundred fifty years. Darkly, she recalled him telling her why he had resisted making love to her that night. He knew he had to leave. That had been his priority and Jillian knew she had no right to ask him to do otherwise. Reluctantly, she opened her palm and revealed the button. Her hand trembled. Her breaths were short and shallow. Her heart was pierced through with grief. She swallowed. Hard. “Benton…I…” Why was this so hard? Hell, she’d only known the man for three days. She was Jillian Drew. Self-sufficient. Pulled together. In charge of her life. So how had it come to this in such a short time? Why was she suddenly convinced she couldn’t live without this person’s presence in her life? Sure, Benton was an unbelievable lover. He was a compassionate, caring, handsome, mysterious man who never failed to amaze her. But that didn’t explain this sudden, overwhelming, thoroughly devastating attraction. Jillian bit her bottom lip. No. This had to be a symptom of some sort of posttraumatic stress disorder. This desire, this innate need for him and only him, for the safe haven he’d so gallantly offered her, had to be a symptom of stress. She could do this. She nodded. Yes, she could release him and be a better person for it. Taking a deep breath, she looked hard into his gray eyes. “Benton…thank you for your help and protection. Amy and I are indebted to you.” Something dark flashed in his eyes. “I don’t want to go.” Jillian’s heart soared only to come crashing back down hard around her. If she could only keep him here… But here he was in danger from the soul collectors. Although Lynn was dead, they would never stop trying to steal his soul. Jillian could never live with herself if he became one of those awful revenants. Benton reached for her but she drew away. His forehead furrowed. She averted her gaze. “It’s time for you to go now.” More than anything, she wanted to launch herself into his arms and beg him to stay with her—but that was impossible. 117

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She had to be strong for him, but Benton did not look magnanimous. He looked pissed. He stared for an eternity and then, never taking his gaze from hers, he gave her a low, sweeping and very mocking bow. “Madam, I would have defended any lady. My sense of honor demands no less of me.” His eyes narrowed. Jillian stared. His words stabbed her in the heart. His eyes glittered silver. Amy’s fingers closed around the button. A muscle in Benton’s jaw twitched. He glared. Why was he so angry? Isn’t this what he wanted? Hadn’t he told her he expected to go into the Light when this was over? Did he not know this was breaking her heart? Finally, she tore her gaze away from his. Her heart felt as if it was in her throat. Hot tears stung her eyes and she blinked hard. She couldn’t be here when he left. She couldn’t let him see her devastated and in tears—not when he was being so callous. “Amy, do it. Send him. I’m going home.” But as she started to stand, her cell phone rang. What rotten timing. She picked up her purse and checked the caller ID. Theo. “Dammit,” she said aloud, the betraying sound of heartbreak evident in her voice. “Answer it, Jill. It might be important,” Amy said. Jillian blew out a breath and flipped open the phone. Out of the corner of her eye, she was acutely aware of Benton standing stock-still. “Theo?” she asked. “Yeah, Jillian. I have bad news.” Jillian pressed her cell phone to her ear. “What is it, Theo?” Her gaze swept upward to Benton’s steely eyes. He continued to glare. She quickly looked away. “We found the knife used in the Matt Gregory murder.” “And?” “And the prints on it don’t match Lynn Bowers’.” Jillian’s stomach did a somersault. Her gaze flew to Benton’s once more. She swallowed. But the murder was connected. It had to be. She’d found the evidence in Lynn’s office. It couldn’t just be a weird coincidence. Her mind raced. Lynn had been confused when Jillian had accused her of hanging that hank of Amy’s hair to her front door. Did that mean Lynn had an accomplice? “Do…do you know who killed him then?” “Yeah.” She heard him take a deep breath. “The fingerprints matched her son’s. We’ve got a warrant out for him but you need to be careful until we apprehend him.” “I understand.” Jillian’s mouth went bone dry. “And listen, I know you’ve been through a lot in the past couple days but we’re going to need to get a statement from you. Can I come by your house later?”

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“Sure.” She thanked him for calling and then flipped the phone shut. Numb, she dropped it in her purse. “What is it?” Amy asked. Jillian swallowed. Her gaze went from Benton’s to Amy’s and then back to Benton’s. “It seems Lynn wasn’t working alone.” Amy turned to Benton. “Then you shouldn’t go to the Light yet,” Amy said quickly. “Jillian still needs you.” Something in Benton’s eyes flashed. Was it anger, disappointment? Jillian found his expression unreadable. Still, a surge of heat crept up the front of her throat. He wasn’t leaving her. Not yet. Her heart leapt, only to come soaring back down again with sickening force. Benton needed to go into the Light. With Scott on the loose, the soul collectors would almost certainly double their efforts to steal Benton’s soul. She inhaled sharply and turned to Amy. “No. I don’t need him. The police have a warrant out for Scott Bowers right now.” “But Jill, I can do this tomorrow. Benton should stay with you, at least until they catch Scott.” Amy looked to Benton again. “Please, she needs you whether she wants to admit it or not.” Jillian shook her head. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t bear spending another night with him and having to go through this all over again tomorrow. When she thought he’d been taken by the soul collectors, she had been terrified. And then, when she’d discovered he was all right, her heart had soared only to shatter into tiny pieces. Benton blew out a breath. “Listen to your sister, Jillian,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m not going anywhere. Yet.” Amy offered the button to Jillian. Jillian stared it. She wanted it. She wanted to just grab it and hold onto it—to hold onto Benton. Her mind warred with her heart. “You promised me you’d keep it until this was over.” Although Benton had spoken softly, his voice was strong. Commanding. His energy had come back full force. A chill swept up Jillian’s spine. She sighed. She longed for the safety he offered, for the feeling of his strong arms around her. Her stomach tightened. She would never know that feeling again. Not after this. Resigned, she looked into his eyes. “All right.” She took the button. “But as soon as they take Scott Bowers into custody, I…” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t know how to finish her sentence. If she told Benton she wanted him gone, he would know it was a lie. Standing, she pushed the button into her pants pocket. “I need to go home. Theo will be there to take my statement soon.”

***** Benton was silent as Jillian drove home. He sat, in his full regalia as a nineteenthcentury soldier, looking oddly out of place in the passenger seat of her Jag. If he noticed 119

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any of his surroundings at all, Jillian was unaware of it. All he did was stare—or rather, glare—at her. Was he angry with her? Jillian didn’t doubt it. Not after the she’d implied she wanted him to leave at the hospital. She’d been so happy to see him and then so heartbroken to realize he was going away forever… Well, she’d been a fool. Falling in love with a ghost. The very idea. She had no one to blame but herself. Her cheeks burned with shame and self-loathing. She wanted to confess her love for him and beg him to stay with her for eternity but intuition told her to keep her mouth shut. She concentrated on the road, digging her nails into the leatherencased steering wheel. Still, she couldn’t stand him being angry with her and staring at her with those malevolent gray eyes of his. She glanced at him and inadvertently ran a red light, leaving a chorus of honking horns in her wake. “Look what you made me do!” she said. “You nearly got us killed.” “Us?” She screeched to a stop at another traffic light and turned to him. “Oh that’s right. How could I forget? You’re dead.” A college kid in the car beside her stared with a what-did-I-do look on his face. He grimaced and flipped her off. Jillian gasped, realizing she’d just made a complete fool of herself. No one else could see Benton. She was giving the appearance of having a nasty case of road rage. She blew out an angry breath. Her gaze collided with the other driver’s. He was still gesturing and yelling something she couldn’t hear. She shook a fist at him. “What are you looking at, punk?” When the light finally changed, her gaze swept Benton as she gunned the Jag and took off. He wasn’t staring any longer. Not at her, anyway. His head hung. He looked dejected. Sad. She turned into her well-appointed Belle Meade neighborhood and the sight of her cheery cottage-style house was welcome for more reasons than one. Her tires squealed as she wheeled too fast into her driveway. She got out and slammed the car door shut. But when she put her key in the front door and opened it, her gaze caught sight of a tall figure in the foyer. She gasped before realizing it was Benton. Their gazes collided. Jillian’s temper flared. She knew she wasn’t angry with him. She was damn pissed at the situation. Why did the one man she had ever dared to love have to be dead? Her pulse sped dangerously. “I hate it when you do that,” she scolded. “If you’re going to insist on staying until Scott is apprehended, then at least do it invisibly!” Did he not realize manifesting was robbing him of precious energy? His eyes flashed menacingly. A cold smile pulled at his lips. “As you wish, madam. But don’t for a second think that I’m gone because you can’t see me.”

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With that, he vanished. Jillian gasped. Her heart raced. Was that a threat? She threw her purse and keys on the kitchen counter and stormed into her bedroom. Her fingers trembled as she walked into the bathroom, unbuttoning her bloody silk blouse. She wadded it up and threw it to the floor with all her might. Uttering an unladylike stream of curse words, she turned on the tub faucets. Her gaze caught her own reflection in the mirror. The sight shocked her. She looked like hell. Mascara was smudged around her eyes. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess. A blue elastic band clung tenaciously to the remnants of what had started out as a ponytail. The bandage circling her left arm was a glaring reminder of what had transpired earlier. Her white pants were stained crimson with Lynn’s blood. This was not how she had envisioned her last moments with Benton at all. She blinked hard to dispel fresh tears. “Don’t cry,” she told herself, knowing he was somewhere nearby. “Don’t let him see you cry.” With a deep breath, she wriggled out of her bra, pushed down her pants and underwear and then stepped into her steaming bathwater. She sank until she was completely under the water, remaining there until she was forced to come up for air. Refusing to allow herself to think, she closed her eyes and lay there until the water turned cold. The sound of the doorbell startled her and she remembered that Theo was supposed to stop by. Scrambling out of the tub, she pulled on a thirsty white terry cloth robe. She started to rush for the door but stopped when she remembered Theo wanted her bloodstained clothes for evidence. Seizing the pants, she snagged the button out of the pocket and thrust it into her robe pocket. “I’m coming,” she called as she walked and wrapped a towel turban-style around her wet hair. She flung open the front door. Theo stood there, looking official, his thick lips pursed tightly. He held a clipboard in his hand. “You look a little better. How are you feeling?” “Like I’ve been shot,” Jillian said wryly. “Come inside.” He followed her into the kitchen where she gestured for him to sit on a bar stool. “Can I get you anything?” she asked as she popped the cork from a bottle of Shiraz. The red liquid looked good tumbling into one of her wineglasses. Really good. He held up a hand and shook his head. “No thanks.” Jillian took a sip of her wine and then blew out a breath. “I needed that.” Theo smiled. “I can imagine.” She sat down beside him and arranged the opening of her robe so that it kept her modestly concealed. “I hate to do this to you but I need to fill out a report on what happened today.” “I know.” 121

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“Do you want to start with when you left your office?” Jillian took a bigger drink of wine. Warmth unfurled all the way down to her stomach. It felt good. She took a deep breath. “I just wanted a change of scenery. I really don’t know why I went to the Sam Davis museum. I just kind of ended up there.” “Yeah,” Theo said skeptically. “I noticed the sword you killed Lynn with belonged to that soldier you told me about.” Jillian’s forehead furrowed. Had she told Theo Benton’s name? She didn’t recall telling him. It didn’t matter. She continued. “Yes. The museum director there, Andrew Jackson, asked me if I’d like to hold the sword. So I put on some gloves and…well…I was looking at it when we heard the door open. Andrew went to see who it was. And then I heard a gunshot.” Theo wrote furiously. “And then…” Jillian stopped. She forced herself to breathe. “Lynn came in pointing a gun at me.” “What’d she say?” “She told me…” Jillian stopped again. She couldn’t tell him about Benton’s involvement with Lynn’s ancestor. Did it really matter in the scheme of things? And would Theo believe it? She reconsidered. “She told me she was going to kill me.” “Did she say why?” Jillian shrugged. Theo stared. He put down his pen. “Off the record. What did she tell you?” “She thought I still had the button.” “The one from the evidence case?” Jillian nodded. “Okay. I know how crazy this sounds but you said off the record, so here goes. The spirit of the Civil War soldier I told you about was the fiancé of one of Lynn’s ancestors. He compromised her, didn’t marry her, yadda yadda, and Lynn’s family is still holding onto some one hundred fifty-year-old vendetta against the man. His spirit is earthbound. And to make a long story short, Lynn wanted to make certain he remained earthbound.” Theo’s brown eyes grew wide. “All this over some dead dude’s eternal resting place?” “Yep.” Eternal. Her thoughts turned to Benton. She looked down at the dark red liquid in her glass. He had risked his soul to protect her. Her nose tingled. A tear burned in the corner of her eye. Theo took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “I knew I shoulda stayed in football.” Jillian gave him a wistful smile and then took a drink of her wine. He took up the pen once more. “And then what?” He patted her hand and gazed at her quickly. “Back on the record.”

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“She shot at me. Twice. And all I can remember is that she must have stumbled because she just came hurtling toward the sword.” Jillian shuddered. Her mind’s eye was filled with images of Benton shoving Lynn and then the stomach-turning feel of Lynn’s body being impaled on the sword. But Jillian wasn’t about to tell Theo that. “The next thing I knew, you and the paramedics were there.” He wrote it down. “How’s the arm?” “Whoever said getting shot feels like getting kicked by a mule was right.” Theo looked down at what he had written and then his gaze met Jillian’s. “Do you want to explain those bruises on Lynn’s back?” Jillian squeezed her eyes shut. “That’s something else for the off-the-record report.” Theo pursed his lips. “The ghost?” Jillian nodded. His eyes widened and scanned the room as if he expected to see Benton’s ghost loom up. “I’ll let you rest now.” She touched his sleeve. “Have…have you caught Scott Bowers yet?” Part of her hoped he’d already been rounded up. Another part of her hoped they would never catch him—that Benton would stay with her and…and what? Fantasizing about a relationship with a dead man was ridiculous. She blinked to force the thoughts out of her head. Theo shook his head. “A neighbor said he’d left town. We’ll put out an APB on him though.” He slid his pen into his shirt pocket. “If you want me to, I’ll station an officer here at the house.” “I would appreciate that,” she said. “But I think Lynn was the real threat to Amy and me.” And to Benton. Theo stood. “Well, you won’t have to worry about her anymore.” Jillian merely stared. She wasn’t so sure about that. “Oh, did you bag those clothes for the crime lab?” Jillian handed Theo the plastic bag filled with the wadded, ruined clothes, along with yet another pair of wrecked, expensive shoes. “Thanks,” he said and started for the door. “I’ll let you know the second we apprehend Bowers.” She drew in a breath. “Please do.” Theo gave her a mock salute and then left. She closed and locked the door behind him. “You didn’t really think it would be that easy, did you?” Jillian whirled. She gasped, her heart lodging in her throat. Lynn Bowers’ pallid, grinning ghost hovered menacingly behind her.

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Chapter Sixteen Jillian gaped at Lynn’s pale, pale ghost. Her heart hammered wildly. She sucked in a breath. “Lynn!” “Lynn, Lynn.” Mockery laced her unearthly tone. She took a menacing step forward. Still wearing the bloody orange knit top and brown pants, her ghost almost looked comical. But there was no mistaking the unveiled threat in her eyes. Her expression was maniacal, insane. Jillian’s back found the door. She tensed. Fear wedged in her throat. “What do you want with me?” “It’s not you I want. It’s him.” Her voice sounded eerily breathy. Her eyes widened and she pointed. Jillian’s gaze followed her bloody finger. Benton stood, legs braced, just inches from her. Jillian gasped at the suddenness of his appearance. “Well, if it isn’t your little Gatekeeper,” Lynn said scathingly. “You’re just the ghoul I wanted to see.” Benton burst into a bout of angry laughter. “You have no power here.” “No?” she asked. “Maybe not. But my friends do.” An insane grin stretched her red lips into a thin, tight line as a shadowy horde of soul collectors materialized. Their red eyes smoldered. Sharp, fang-like teeth glittered wickedly. Jillian’s heart sank. Terror immobilized her and she realized she was hugging herself. Cold bumps broke out all over her flesh. She shivered, shooting a quick glance at Benton. His stare was locked with Lynn’s, a muscle clenching in his jaw. If he was afraid, he didn’t show it. Lynn’s searing gaze raked Benton from head to toe. And then, Jillian watched in awestruck horror as Lynn’s form morphed into a balding red-haired man with a scraggily beard. He was dressed in a tattered pair of butternut uniform pants and a homespun beige coat. At once, Jillian knew he was Bruce Bowers. Had Lynn been Bruce in a former life? His mouth twisted in a wicked grin. “You ready for a fight, Boy General?” Benton flashed him a sinister smile that Jillian found frightening. “No, but she is.” He gestured with his head toward Jillian. What? Jillian’s gaze collided with Benton’s and clung. She searched his eyes. Her heart thudded so hard she could hear her pulse in her ears. What did he mean she is?

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Benton’s hard gaze softened. Jillian felt his fingers entwine with hers. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and lowered his mouth to her ear. “Call in your Light.” “What?” Her voice came out as a harsh whisper. “Ask for your Light, your protection. Surround us with it,” his words were fast, clipped, low. What did he mean? What was he talking about? “Get him!” Bruce yelled. The soul collectors swarmed them and Jillian felt as if she were caught up in a whirlwind. She clung tenaciously to Benton’s hand but they were being ripped away from each other. “The Light, Jillian!” Benton’s voice rose over the windstorm. Jillian couldn’t think. The soul collectors were tearing Benton away from her. She squeezed her eyes shut and did the only thing she could think of. She imagined brilliant White Light surrounding them both. She suddenly landed on the floor with a hard thud. She shook off her disorientation, fighting subsequent waves of dizziness and nausea. Her robe was in disarray and the towel with which she’d tied up her hair was in a damp heap on the other side of the room. Bruce and the soul collectors were letting out unearthly wails. Jillian coughed and sputtered. Sulfurous smoke clogged the foyer, strangling her. And then she realized she was no longer holding Benton’s hand. She choked. “Benton,” she called lurching up on her hands and knees. She searched through the smoke. “Benton!” She gasped, a hoarse, raw sound. It was as if hell had opened up a yawning, gaping portal right in her foyer. The soul collectors were dragging a hissing, screaming Bruce—along with Benton—down into a swirling torrent of flames. “Benton!” He reached for her. Their fingertips brushed but she couldn’t grasp his hand, nor could she feel it. “No!” Jillian yelled. At the risk of being gobbled down into the pit herself, she hurtled her body toward him, shrugging through the few remaining soul collectors. She ignored their scratching, prying claws. “Benton, manifest to me!” she yelled above the din. She knew full well it might mean his demise—or it might be her only hope of pulling him free. Their gazes clashed. His hand was suddenly hard and solid and firmly clasped in hers. Jillian grasped it and strained to hold on. The hellish force was pulling her down with him, inching her slowly across the floor. Struggling, she felt as if her shoulders were being torn from their sockets. As she slid precariously toward the pit, she groaned and pulled harder. “Let go of me,” Benton ordered. “It’s not you they want.”

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“No!” She slid farther across the hardwood toward the void. “Let go!” Fiercely determined, she hung on with all her might, squeezed her eyes shut and projected the White Light once more. She would not let him go. Not now. Not ever. Miraculously, the force loosened. Jillian reeled backward, slamming her head against the front door. Her whole body ached. Her head throbbed. The house was suddenly quiet. The pungent odor of sulfur dissipated. Jillian opened her eyes. Benton lay sprawled on the floor between her knees, his head buried in her lap. The only remnant of what had just transpired was a dark charcoal stain on her heart of pine wood floor. The stain grew darker and suddenly, a gray figure rose up from the floor. Bruce! Jillian gasped and tried to scramble backward—but then she realized his spirit had no color. He was a revenant. He stared vacuously for a moment before evaporating before her eyes. Joy and relief flooded her and she threaded her fingers into his thick, dark hair. Benton stirred and Jillian blew out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Are you all right?” He raised his head and looked into her eyes. The intensity of his gaze made Jillian’s stomach tighten. “Why didn’t you let me go? You could have been…been…” But his words trailed off as he pushed himself up. He sat heavily beside her and leaned back against the door. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath of relief. Jillian continued to stare. He’d nearly been taken from her. The thought sent a wave of terror fluttering through her insides and then, tenderly, as if she couldn’t stop herself, she brushed an errant lock of hair off his forehead. All the hurt at the prospect of living without him seemed insignificant now. He twisted his head to look into her eyes. His gaze searched hers and then his head was slanting toward forward. Slowly. Steadily. He was going to kiss her and she was powerless to prevent it. She felt herself leaning toward him, meeting him halfway. A warm, calloused hand came up to caress her cheek. His thumb nudged her chin upward. Her lashes fluttered down as he closed the remaining distance between them and brushed his lips across hers. He blew out a soft breath that fanned her face. Chills broke out all over her body. She knew she would be irretrievably lost, forever spellbound, but she opened her lips and met his kiss, softly, sweetly. God, how she had wanted this, longed for this—just one more time. She trembled. His tongue slid between her lips. Tentatively, she touched hers to his. A seductive groan emanated from somewhere in his chest. He crushed her against him, his mouth seeking hers possessively.

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How could she let this continue when it was breaking her heart? She tried to protest but she couldn’t. It was too late for that. And too late to stop. His hand was behind her head, his fingers laced tightly into her damp hair. He pushed her down to the hardwood floor. Was he going to take her right there in the foyer? An upsurge of panic prodded her to speak but his name was the only word she managed to utter before Benton shrugged off his jacket and kneeled over her. His hardened arousal was glaringly outlined in his gray trousers. One big hand roughly unbelted her robe while the other desperately undid the buttons of his fly. He pushed open the robe. Jillian was naked underneath. His gaze blazed as it moved down her body and then back up to her eyes. Jillian’s heart lodged in her throat. She tried to voice a protest again, to wriggle away from him but he seized her hips in his hands and pulled her back to him. “Come here,” he commanded and was buried to the hilt inside her pussy before she could utter an objection. Panting heavily, he plunged inside her. Each relentless, rhythmic thrust pushed the air out of her lungs in a rush. The floor was rock hard underneath her ass and she had no doubt she’d be bruised and aching later. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was this fever-pitch desire that consumed her. Entwining her arms around his shoulders and her legs around thighs, she held on as he continued his assault, taking her as if he were trying to possess her, dominate her. His breath was hot and ragged in her ear and the sound of it, mingled with the wild, wet, slapping clash of his groin against hers, sent her plummeting over the precipice. Her cries resounded in the foyer and she vaguely realized Benton’s silky moans were echoing her own.

***** Breathless, Jillian lay on the cold hardwood floor with the robe gaping open, with her legs still sprawled impossibly, wantonly wide. Benton lay beside her, nestled against her, half on his stomach, half on his side. One hand possessively covered her breast. Jillian knew he could feel her heart pounding against his palm. She turned her head to look at him and was shocked to the core by his expression. It was one of benevolence, tenderness and something else she couldn’t identify. Jillian swallowed. Some unsettling emotion sparked inside her. He was going to be gone soon. Gone. He was leaving her—just as her mother had all those years ago. His thumb and forefinger tugged at her nipple, sending another wave of desire spiraling straight to her pussy. She had to stop this. Now. Before she got hurt any more than she already was.

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Wrenching free of his grasp, she clambered off the floor. She seized the robe in her hands and yanked it around her naked body. Benton looked confused. He stood, his shirt hanging untucked, his trousers unbuttoned, revealing wet, black curls against his skin. “Jillian?” His voice was laced with concern. She fled past him toward her bedroom but he moved at lightning speed and all at once, he had her in his arms again. He spun her around to face him. Jillian thrashed wildly. She tried to push at him, strike at him, anything to free herself but he caught her wrists in his hands and held them against her chest, pinning her with the force of his strong arms. An animalistic sob tore from her throat and she crumpled against him. Still holding her wrists with one hand, he cradled her against him with the other. “Why are you always running away from me?” Her chest heaved but she managed to fight down the tears that stung her eyes. She lifted her pitiful gaze to his. “Because I know you’re going to leave me and it’s breaking my heart.” Briefly, he closed his eyes. Something akin to relief washed over his features. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before his gaze sought hers once more. “Damned, if women ain’t about the triflin’est bunch of creatures on God’s green earth.” His total expression of exasperation confused Jillian. She stared, brow creased. “But…you told me from the beginning that you wanted to go to the Light.” He blew a breath out through his nose. His mouth was a hard line. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Well, maybe that’s changed.” Jillian’s heart leaped. Her lips parted. What was he saying? Dammit, why were men so tight-lipped when it came to their emotions? Was he telling her he really did care for her? All she could manage to say was, “What do you mean?” “Whoa now,” he said, releasing her wrists and taking a step back from her. “Don’t be lookin’ at me like that.” Remaining silent, she waited for him to find the words. He swallowed. “Maybe I’m just not ready to go right now, is all. But when your sister got all fired up about sending me and you…you seemed pretty damned determined to be rid of me…I thought—” Jillian didn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence. She flung herself into his arms and kissed him. But then her joy came crashing down with sickening force. After what she had just seen, she knew more certainly than ever that he was no longer safe on this plane. He had to go to the Light. Now she understood the ramifications of it completely. Trembling, she backed away from him. She stared. “Benton, you manifested to me just now.” She pointed at him. “You’re still doing it.” “I had to so you could hang onto me.”

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She shook her head. “No, I mean since then.” Looking extremely guilty, he took a step toward her. The backs of her knees found the side of the bed. She swallowed. “What are you doing? Why? Don’t you know the soul collectors could take you? Don’t you know what you’re doing to your energy?” Her voice rose with hysteria. He took the one step that closed the distance between them. “And haven’t you realized by now I’d risk my soul to feel your arms around me?” Jillian searched his eyes. His fingers burrowed into the damp hair behind her ear. His gaze followed and she took the opportunity to study his face. He was so handsome, with his unruly hair and the piratical moustache and triangular-shaped beard. She could scarcely believe someone like him would be attracted to her. She had always considered herself plain, austerely professional in her choice of dress, minimal makeup and no-nonsense haircut. But Benton didn’t look at her that way. He regarded her as if she were anything but plain. And when his gaze slid into hers once more, her stomach clenched. Never in her well-ordered life had things seemed more out of control. “Let me make love to you, Jillian.” The pleading in his voice was going to be her undoing. His gaze dropped to her lips and then lower, where the robe gaped open, exposing her generous cleavage. He took a deep breath. The gray of his eyes turned a smoky shade of charcoal. He seemed to be taking her in. But it was more than just her physical appearance he was appraising. He seemed to be absorbing her entire essence. He swallowed and his gaze lifted to hers. “Why would you risk your soul for this?” She instantly regretted asking such a question. “Because for the first time in my whole damned existence I feel real. Because you make me feel like a man.” Total, encompassing love for him surged straight to her heart. She stared, eyes wide. This could not be happening. This was more than infatuation now. This was more than being in love. A shiver swept up Jillian’s spine despite the heat in Benton’s smoldering gaze. She didn’t want him to leave. Ever. She blinked in an effort to check threatening tears. “Darlin’ I don’t know what’s over there. I don’t know what to expect. But what I do know is heaven can’t be any better than what I feel when I’m in your arms.” Jillian’s heart turned over. Hard. His sensuous lips curved into a smile as he tugged at the tie of her robe. “Let me make love to you,” he said again. “Now. One more time.” He nuzzled her neck and then his mouth found her ear. Warm. Soft. Insistent. “I want to love you, Jillian.” She melted against him. And then he said, “I do love you.”

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Jillian’s mouth went bone dry. Her knees went weak. Everything was spiraling out of control and she couldn’t muster the courage to stop it. Benton wanted her. Benton loved her. His hands slid inside her robe, around her, pulling her freshly exposed body against him. The swollen, wet shaft of his cock nudged her belly. Desire unfurled inside her. This couldn’t be happening. One of his hands slipped between their bodies, where his fingers prodded and probed the slick wetness between her thighs. One found its way inside her pussy, where he searched and discovered that special spot that made her cream. Her head fell back as she gave him greater access to her neck. She heard herself moan. “I want to make you come this way,” he purred. “With my fingers.” Jillian started to spread her legs for him but he suddenly withdrew his hand and before she could protest, he spun her around and bent her over. Her palms found the mattress as he whipped the robe up to expose her ass. “What are you doing?” Her voice rose slightly. “What I promised.” Jillian’s body tightened. “Spread your legs, darlin’.” Her heart hammered. Warm fingers trailed up the back of her thigh and brushed the cleft of her ass. “Spread ’em.” This time, it was a command. Jillian inched her legs apart, knowing she was thoroughly exposed. Her pussy clenched with anticipation. Benton voiced his approval as he sank to his knees. She could feel his hot breath fanning the back of one thigh. He could see everything. Her pulse throbbed in her temples. And then she felt a warm, warm kiss pressed against her gaping pussy. She sighed and instinctively pushed back against his mouth. His tongue laved her cunt and Jillian trembled. It felt so good. She spread her thighs wider and then she felt a finger push inside her hole. She quivered and tightened around it. “How come you’re so wet?” he teased. Jillian swallowed. She clutched at the covers. “How come, darlin’?” His drawl was like silk. “Because your finger’s in my pussy,” she purred. He withdrew the finger and Jillian’s breath froze as she felt it slide upward to circle her anus. He slowly rose to his feet. “As I recall, you’re fond of having a finger in here too.” 130

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Jillian couldn’t breathe. Part of her wanted him to slide his finger or more into that tight little hole. Another part of her denied she could possibly like that—but she knew that part of her was lying. She shifted restlessly. The fingertip slipped down to her drenched pussy again and then slathered the cream around her anus, pushing its way slowly inside. Jillian jerked but Benton’s other hand splayed across the small of her back, holding her in place as his finger slid all the way inside her. She groaned, reveling in the mixture of pleasure and pain that curiously made her want more. She dropped to one elbow and braced herself as she found her hard, throbbing clit with her other hand. She rubbed herself furiously as Benton’s finger assaulted her anus, thrusting in and out of her. She’d grown wet there too and was surprised at how good it felt. The mingling sensations of masturbating herself and his finger fucking her ass crested and she gnawed on her clenched fist as she felt her body spasm. Her knees buckled and she crumpled against the bed as his hand followed her and wrested a mind-shattering orgasm from her. A sob tore from her throat as she twisted away from him and onto her back. Although her passion was assuaged, Jillian was certain Benton had to go into the Light as soon as possible. And as much as she loved him, as much as she wanted this— wanted more—she knew it couldn’t continue.

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Chapter Seventeen Jillian wanted nothing more than to succumb to Benton’s kisses, to his words of love and lust. But she could not. She would not. Breathless and flushed with desire, she pushed herself off the bed. He reached for her but she tore herself away from him. “No,” she breathed the word. He made an attempt to draw her to him again. “Did I hurt you?” “No,” she whispered and pushed his hands away. Undaunted, he reached for her. “I said no!” This time he stopped. Grief flashed in his dove gray eyes. He stared for a long time. Jillian batted a tear away as she belted her robe. “Benton, we can’t do this. I can’t do this.” “Why not?” “Dammit, Benton! You’re dead. Dead! Don’t you realize that? This is not…it’s not natural. It’s wrong. You’ve got to go to the Light and, as much as I would love to spend the rest of my life with you…” All her emotions came pouring out in a long uncontrollable torrent. She went on. “I couldn’t bear it if the soul collectors took you.” She swallowed. “What would happen to me then? What will happen to me when I die?” A sob wrenched from her throat. “I love you, body and soul, and I couldn’t stand the thought of spending eternity without you.” Her whole body trembled uncontrollably. He stared. He seemed shocked by her pain—and even more shocked by her bald-faced declaration. Another tear coursed down her cheek. She swiped it again. “I don’t want you to go, Benton. But I need you to go.” His broad shoulders rose and fell with a breath of deep resignation. He moved closer and pulled her into a tight embrace. “I know, Jillian. I know.” She heard him swallow. “I’m being offered heaven so why do I feel like a man condemned?” Jillian closed her eyes and breathed in the masculine scent of him. She reveled in the strength of his arms and in the knowledge of his love for her. He held her that way until, outside, the sun descended and the room was bathed in blue twilight. Finally, his index finger caught her chin and he tilted her face up to his. His gaze was warm, compassionate, thick with emotion. “If I’ve got to leave you,” he drawled, “then I want to spend the rest of the night in this bed with you.”

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Jillian stared. Her heart felt as if it were about to burst inside her chest. She was so full of love for him her body could no longer contain it. Tears welled in her eyes. Benton’s thumb slid up and tenderly brushed the dampness from the corner of her eye. “Don’t cry, darlin’.” His voice was whisper soft. “I need you to be strong for me.” His mouth descended on hers in a tender kiss. Jillian couldn’t help but respond. She felt him trembling but then, so was she. He took her face in his palms and his kiss deepened. It was endless and resolute and thoroughly, utterly complete. Jillian unbelted her robe and shrugged it off her shoulders. It slid into a pool around her ankles. His palms moved over her body, rubbing, cupping, touching every inch of her skin. She lifted her gaze to his. “I want you naked.” A devastating smile claimed his lips. The dimples at the corners of his mouth deepened seductively. He undressed in record in time. She admired his perfectly sculpted body and then she grasped his shoulders and dragged him down to the bed with her. He lay on top of her, his gaze locked with hers. “You are so, so beautiful.” A blush infused her cheeks. His mouth claimed hers in a tender, soft kiss. How could he be so passionate one moment and so affectionate the next? The two very different sides of his sensuality sent little curls of pleasure spiraling downward. He was deep in her mouth. She wanted him deep in her pussy. “Benton, please…” His gaze locked with hers as he settled himself over her body. She was foolish to let this continue—but she couldn’t resist him. He was poised over her with his thick, engorged cock, ready to take her with fire smoldering in his eyes. She could almost come just looking at him and she’d be damned but she could just about forget anything in the heat of making love to him—even the fact that his spirit would soon be whisked away. His hand crept between their bodies and possessively cupped her mound. “Please…” she whimpered again. She bucked upward. His gaze caught hers. A tear seeped out of the corner of her eye and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. A muscle in his throat clenched. “I love you, darlin’. You know that, don’t you?” She bit down harder on her lips and managed a jerky nod. A sad smile tugged on his lips and he slanted his head to kiss away the tear that coursed from her eye down toward her hair. “Open your legs for me, darlin’,” he whispered against her ear. Immediately, her thighs flew open and she felt the bulbous head of his cock searching and prodding and then finding her hole. She bit back a sob as he entered her.

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Her hands roamed over his back and she could feel his power and strength. She wanted him to pound her until she begged for mercy but he didn’t. Not this time. This time, he made love to her slowly, withdrawing inch by pulsating inch of his thick cock and then deliberately thrusting it into her again—a long, slow slide that made her undulate underneath him. She arched and pressed her clit against that place where his penis joined his body. His hand moved underneath her to cup her ass and he lifted her against him, holding her up so that his body ground hers right where she wanted it. Jillian hooked her legs around his. The muscles in her thighs burned. Faster. Why wouldn’t he fuck her faster? She whimpered and it was all the impetus he needed to buck into her. She rolled against him, clinging, begging, crying—wanting him to bring her over the edge again and again. Finally, her pussy contracted and a wave unfurled within her that crested slowly only to crash violently, leaving her boneless and floating on some otherworldly plane. Still inside her, still kissing her face, her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips, he tenderly continued to make love to her, while Jillian tried not to think about him leaving. But so many questions darted through her thoughts. Would he still remember her on the Other Side? Would he still love her when they met again when it was her time? Would he even know her?

***** Much later, when they were both breathless and sated, she lay in his arms, memorizing every solid inch of him, relishing the feel of his hard body beneath her palms. But then, their gazes would fuse and he would take her all over again. Long after midnight, she lay under the covers on her side of the bed, spooned against him. His arms and legs were entwined possessively around her. His warm, soft breath fanned the back of her neck. Drowsy, she struggled to stay awake but her eyelids felt heavy. Her whole body felt drained and sore and raw. He lay so still she wondered if he was sleeping but she was too tired to turn over. The past few days had taken their toll on her. A shudder swept through her when she recalled the feel of the sword plunging into Lynn Bowers’ hulking body but Benton pulled her closer and she felt safe and protected and loved. She took a deep, deep breath and blew it out slowly. She had become resigned to the fact that he had to leave her—to move into the Light. Especially after she’d witnessed exactly what kind of power the soul collectors could wield over a spirit. They had dragged Lynn’s soul down into the hellish depths. The idea of Benton meeting a similar fate was unthinkable. No, she would much rather know his soul was safe even if it meant she wouldn’t see him again in this lifetime—even if it meant she would never see him again. She loved him that much.

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A hard lump welled in her throat. How would she ever make it through life without him? She’d counseled countless people with grief issues. And she knew from listening to their experiences, the old adage that time healed everything was wrong. Time healed nothing. She turned over and faced Benton. His eyes were open. She forced a tiny smile. “Can’t sleep?” “Won’t sleep.” Looking at him in the moonlight, she realized she’d come a long, long way from that little girl who was afraid of ghosts standing beside her bed in the night. Now, she had a ghost in the bed with her. And then, as if something snapped inside her, she realized that her fear had never been of the ghosts at all. She was afraid because of the terror and sense of abandonment she’d felt when her mother had died—when her mother’s spirit had come into her and Amy’s room—when Amy had joyously sent her to the Light while Jillian lay heartbroken and scared. Now it was happening again. But this time, the stakes were different. She wasn’t a child. She was a grown woman in love, who was facing the imminent fact that the man she loved was going to be swept away into the Light and she would never see him, touch him, feel him or make love to him again. Her heart felt like a hard knot in her chest. Benton’s gaze swept her face. He brushed a palm over her hair. “I love the way your dark hair looks against the white of the pillowcase.” She smiled and fingered the little triangular beard under his bottom lip. “You know, these are back in style but only rock stars wear them.” “Rock stars?” His brow creased. She laughed. “Musicians.” He rubbed it in thought. “I assumed it made me look older. I was only twenty-two when I was made colonel of our company and twenty-four when I received my commission as brigadier.” “Wow. That’s an amazing accomplishment at such a young age.” He laughed. It was a warm, rich sound. “Not really, darlin’. All the older officers got killed off.” “Do you ever regret fighting?” She ran her fingertip along the well-defined, hard line of his jaw. “Regret it? I didn’t have the luxury of regret. Fighting was the thing to do. It was a matter of honor.” Honor. It was something Jillian could not comprehend. The only thing to which she could compare it was a sense of self-respect. It was also something she felt was not open to discussion with him. She changed the subject. “So, how do women now compare to women of your time?” 135

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His dimples deepened. “The only difference I’ve noted is that women not only act like they wear britches, they do wear britches.” This time, it was Jillian’s turn to laugh. “But don’t misunderstand me. I like the way you look in ’em.” His smile faded. “You’re beautiful when you laugh.” He traced one of her eyebrows. “And your eyes turn a dark shade of green, like the color of moss on creek stones when you’re…aroused.” The gray in his eyes smoldered. Jillian had already seen that look three times since they’d gotten in the bed but her body reacted the same way to seeing it a fourth. Her already-aching clitoris swelled. She shifted beneath the sheets and reached for him. He inhaled sharply. His cock was already hard. She gasped. A twinge of surprise passed through her. Had he been like this when he was alive or was his hearty libido a by-product of being alone for so many years? Jillian, however, could not mistake what animated her sudden passion. It was love. Pure and simple. She loved him. She loved everything about him. And knowing he would soon be gone from her forever made her want him that much more. Disappearing under the covers, she kissed her way down his chest to his navel. His stomach tightened at her touch. He threw the covers back, exposing them both. Jillian smiled as he propped himself up on two pillows to get a better view. She brushed her lips against his rock-hard arousal. “Do you like it when I do this?” He swallowed. “Yes,” he murmured huskily. Brazenly keeping eye contact with him, she ran her tongue down the length, all the way to the base and then back up again. “What about that, Benton? Do you like that?” Her voice was low, seductive. “Yes.” His brow furrowed. He looked expectant. Impatient. He rocked his hips upward slightly. Grazing the head of his cock with her lips once more, she looked into his eyes. “Tell me what you want me to do.” The breath left his body in a rush. “More of that.” She gave him a half smile. “Tell me, Benton. More of what?” She pressed a teasing kiss to the swollen, plum-colored tip. His fingers burrowed into the hair at the nape of her neck and he nudged her head downward. She resisted. “Oh no.” She shook her head and smiled. “You have to tell me what you want.” Obviously debating, he bit his bottom lip. His gaze sizzled. He throbbed in her hand. A groan tore from his parted lips. “I want you to put my cock in your mouth.” He enunciated every word, leaving her with no doubt as to what he wanted. “And then I want you to climb up here and plant that hot little cunny of yours on it and ride me.” Jillian gasped. She’d never been shocked by a man’s words—until now. She stared.

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“Dammit, I said put it in your mouth.” But a devilish grin dispelled the adamancy in his voice. A laugh bubbled up inside her and she buried her head against his hip. He laughed too and took her by the shoulders to pull her up to him. “But…” she began. He positioned her legs on either side of him. “Let’s start with the part about you riding me.” He guided her onto his arousal. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten what I told you to do first.” Jillian sighed as he filled her to capacity but she was no longer in any mood to play. He felt good and warm and she felt so full and so, so complete. Her dark hair fanned his face as she planted her palms on his hard slab of chest muscle and leaned forward. Voicing her pleasure, she rocked her hips rhythmically. “Do you still want me to tell you what I’d like for you to do to me?” Benton asked. He toyed with one of her nipples. Her pussy tightened instinctively around him. “What do you want?” “I want you to kiss me.” He pushed back her hair as she claimed his mouth, thrusting her tongue inside, tasting, probing. And for a fleeting moment, she forgot he was a spirit and she was a living, breathing woman. She forgot he would have to soon make the transition to the Light. And she forgot a killer was still out there waiting, watching. But she didn’t forget what he’d asked her to do to him first. With a wicked little chuckle, she dismounted and kissed her way back down his long, lean body. She sucked his cock into her mouth, running her tongue around the head and then taking as much of him as she possibly could. Entwining her fingers around his thick penis, she used her hand in tandem with her mouth, sucking the head as she flicked her tongue over it. He writhed beneath her. His fingers slid into her hair. She could feel him trembling, could taste the salty-sweet pre-cum mingled with her own sweet pussy juice. “Squeeze my balls, darlin’.” His voice was ragged. His whole body was taut and she could tell he was trying to hold back. Jillian was exultant. Her fingers tightened around his sac and he gasped. She loved that she could do this to him—that she could make him come this way. She wanted to drain him, to taste him in her mouth and suck up every last drop of his cream. He guided her head, moving her with shorter, tense strokes and suddenly he was bursting and pumping himself into her mouth, filling her with his honey-sweet cum. Jillian swallowed it all before resting her head on his hip. He lay limply back on the sheets with his fingers languidly circling in her hair. “Damn,” he said. “Damn.” Jillian smiled and crawled up next to him. Her gaze met his. This was so perfect. It was so easy with Benton. Why did it have to come to an end?

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Panic began to well but he threaded his hand in her hair, drew her down to him and kissed her mouth, his lips chasing away her dismal thoughts.

***** Hours later, Jillian awakened to the feel of something hard and cold pressed against her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open, focusing on a tall man with a shaved head—who held a pistol aimed right between her eyes.

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Chapter Eighteen Jillian gasped. The man retreated slightly at her sudden movement but he continued to threaten her with the pistol. “Where is it?” he demanded. Full realization set in. Her heart thudded like a drum in her chest. Jillian recognized the man from his picture. Scott Bowers. Trembling, she moved cautiously. She sat, pulling the sheet up with her. Her pulse pounded. “Where is it?” he asked again. “Where is what?” Jillian asked, but she knew full well what he wanted. The button. Jillian’s mind raced. Did this man know she’d killed his mother? Was he hell-bent on exacting revenge on her for it? Or did he just want the button? Some deep-seated knowing swelled through her that she was about to die. She swallowed. Hard. Her gaze darted fast around the room. Where was Benton? And then, she recalled with sickening dread that he had spent hours with her fully manifested, fully solid. His energy would be completely and utterly depleted. Horrible, awful guilt surged through her veins. Jillian felt as if she were going to vomit. Her thoughts ran rampant. What would happen when Scott killed her? What would happen to her soul? What would happen if he took the button and Benton could never be released? Could she find him from the Other Side? Scott wagged the gun at her. “The button. I know you have it.” She shook her head. Her mouth was too dry to speak. She wet her lips. Scott suddenly lunged at her. Jillian screamed. One hand yanked back her hair so her head was tilted back to an impossible, agonizing angle. The other jammed the pistol painfully under her chin. She voiced her agony. Benton… Jillian wanted to close her eyes but she could not. Her heart hammered. A little cry escaped her lips. Scott was seething. His eyes glistened insanely. “Where is it?” he demanded through clenched teeth. The stench of fear and sweat assaulted Jillian’s nostrils. She gagged. Her stomach lurched but there was nothing in it to wretch up. The button was in her robe pocket on the floor beside the bed. Would he find it there if he killed her now? “Let her go.” Benton! Jillian’s heart soared.

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Scott jumped and released her. Startled, he fired off a deafening shot at Benton until he quickly realized the obvious futility of trying to kill a man who was already dead. The bullet whizzed through him and shattered the mirror across the room. Jillian screamed and covered her head as the shards flew to the floor. Benton stood, legs braced, only feet from Scott. His searing gaze was leveled and intense. He looked like a panther about to pounce. But Jillian knew better. He was so transparent, she could see directly through him. Scott was too quick for her to make a run for it. He hauled Jillian by the arm, pinning her to his chest as he faced Benton. She dragged the sheet with her and clung to it. Once more, the pistol was pushed against her head. Jillian shook. A tear coursed down her cheek. Why had Benton appeared when he couldn’t possibly do anything to save her? Now Scott was certain she had the button. Scott gave her a hard shake. “I’ll kill her.” Benton eyed him coolly. “Jillian isn’t responsible for what happened to Hattie.” Scott was unhinged. He burst into maniacal laughter. “No, you are. You’re responsible for everything.” But his voice sounded as if he were on the verge of a tearful breakdown. Good God, thought Jillian, he’s out of his mind. Benton’s shoulders rose and fell with a resolute breath. He took a cautious step forward. “Put down the gun and I’ll tell you where the button is—Hattie.” Jillian’s heart actually skipped a beat. She stared, eyes wide, at Benton. Had he just called Scott Bowers Hattie? And had he just offered to tell this crazy man where to find the button? Jillian struggled. “No!” Scott’s vise grip on her tightened. She heard a sob tear from his throat. “The nightmares…oh God, the nightmares!” Scott began to tremble. “And you…you left me to marry that sadistic, murdering bastard, Bruce Bowers!” Benton swallowed. His gaze never left Scott’s. Scott’s voice rose in pitch until it was no longer his voice. It was Harriet Cooke’s. “Do you know what it was like for me? Do you have any idea? The whispers behind my back. Tainted. Ruined. Spoiled goods. Everyone in town knew I’d been had. Everyone knew it. Bruce knew and he hated me for it. He hated me for loving you!” “It was your choice to marry him.” Jillian held her breath. Scott stiffened. “He had the pox, Benton. He gave me the damn syphilis he’d caught from some Georgia whore!” Benton stared. Jillian thought she saw pity flash in his gray eyes but he was so transparent she couldn’t be certain.

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“You have no idea what that was like. The madness. The darkness. The desperate days when I ran away to Shy’s Hill to search for your ghost.” Jillian felt a strange, incongruent sense of pity for the man who would soon be her murderer. Had Scott Bowers really been Hattie Cooke in a past life? An icy shudder swept up Jillian’s spine. “They locked me away after that. They took me to the asylum. Do you want me to tell you about it, Benton?” “Hattie…” Pity was evident in Benton’s voice. “The rats. The men who worked there. The filth. Do you want me to go on?” Benton remained silent. His energy seemed to fade a little. Jillian felt a surge of panic. His presence was the only thing keeping Scott Bowers from unloading a bullet into her brain. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh. She winced. “And all because of your sense of honor. Damn your honor, Benton Smith. And damn you!” “What do you want from me, Hattie?” “I want to watch you go to hell!” Benton’s gaze flicked to Jillian’s. He inhaled and then looked back at Scott. “If I agree to give you the button, will you let Jillian go?” “Why? You don’t want your whore in hell with you?” The pistol dug into her temple. Jillian gritted her teeth. Her whole body tightened, anticipating being shot. “This is between us, Hattie. I have clearly wronged you and I am willing to pay for my transgressions.” Jillian’s heart sank. “Let her go unharmed and I will go with you.” “No, Benton,” Jillian sobbed. Her legs felt as if they would give way any moment. This couldn’t be happening. He was offering to sacrifice himself for her life. His gaze collided with hers and held. “Jillian, it’s the only way.” “Where is it?” Scott demanded. “Release her and I’ll ask her to get it for you if you give me your word you won’t harm her.” The grip loosened and Jillian tumbled free. Scott nudged her shoulder blade with the pistol. “Get it.” “Your word,” Benton demanded. “Very well.” Jillian’s heart lodged in her throat. She looked at Benton, pleading, and shook her head. She had seen what happened to Lynn Bowers. She had glimpsed hell in all its fury and the thought of Benton going to that awful place made her sick and miserable and angry. Guilt plagued her. Why had she allowed him to make love to her, to manifest to her? She felt sick and selfish and so, so stupid. 141

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Why hadn’t she let Amy send him safely to the Light earlier? Why? Why had he insisted on coming with her to protect her from Scott when the unthinkable was happening? Jillian felt so helpless. She would never accept this. She could never accept it. And she would never—ever—forgive herself. “Benton, why?” “Don’t argue with me. Get him the button, Jillian.” Anger welled inside her. He couldn’t make her do it. She shook her head. “No. I can’t. I won’t.” She bit her own lip to keep from bursting into tears. Benton stared for another breath. The look in his eyes spoke volumes. “Jillian, it’s in your robe pocket. Get it for me, now.” She froze and stared. Her chin quivered. She drew in a ragged breath. “Get it!” Scott ordered. Benton nodded. Still clutching the sheet, she picked up the robe, staggered to the side of the bed and sank. Benton’s confession had taken away her right to choose. Anger blazed through her veins. Her hands trembled violently as she searched the pockets. And then her fingers closed around the cold, hard bronze. “Give it to him.” She shot a glance at Benton and pleaded with her eyes but she could see in his gaze he had reconciled himself. This was the only way he could ensure her safety. His sense of honor required no less of him. She squeezed the button. She couldn’t give it up this easily. She just couldn’t. She turned to Scott. Clad in fatigues and with his shaved head, he looked like a military badass. But Jillian knew inside he was a hurt, frightened woman. Somehow, his life as Hattie Cooke had an unabated hold on him. “Hattie?” she began. Scott eyed her. “Jillian…” Benton’s voice was charged with warning. But she ignored him. “Hattie, I know you loved Benton.” A low, animal sob sounded in Scott’s chest. He was warring with the identities of both Harriet and Scott. “If you loved him once, Hattie, I know there’s still love in your heart for him.” Scott shot a look at Benton but then his gaze quickly returned to Jillian’s. “I hate him.” Jillian nodded. “Of course you hate what he did. You hate that he was killed and that you couldn’t spend your lives together. But look at you, Hattie—you’re not that helpless woman anymore. And offering up Benton to the soul collectors isn’t going to ease your pain or your guilt.”

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Scott’s dark eyes turned diamond hard at the word guilt. His breaths came in sharp, shallow pants. “I killed him. I killed him! I dreamed he was going to die and—” “No, Hattie. You didn’t kill him. You had a premonition. Bruce killed him.” Jillian spoke to him as evenly and calmly as she would to one of her patients. His thin lips quavered. “Bruce killed him. You couldn’t have known that would happen,” she reiterated. Scott’s eyes flashed. His hard gaze darted back and forth between them. “I warned him. I warned you, Benton.” With his gun hand trained on Jillian, he pointed at Benton with the other. His hands shook. Tears welled in his eyes. And despite his austere appearance, he seemed like a broken, helpless woman. “I warned you and you left me anyway. We could have run away together. You could have left the army, taken the oath of allegiance to the Union and we could have moved north. But you didn’t. You had to go back. You had to die—not for the cause, but for your damned honor!” With intent, he aimed the gun more steadily at Jillian. Jillian froze, expecting the bullet any second. “I’m going to kill her. I’m going to make you watch while somebody you love dies and leaves you behind!” His voice rose with hysteria. For the first time, Jillian saw Benton jolt. “No, Hattie! No. You gave me your word.” His words were quick and clipped. Scott shook from head to toe. “Then give me the button! Give it to me now!” The room reverberated. Jillian debated swallowing it. But with this hard knot in her throat, she knew she’d never get it down. And what would stop Scott from flaying her open the way he’d murdered Matt Gregory? Impatient, Scott lunged across the room and charged her, his big, muscular body knocking Jillian to her back on the floor. The breath rushed out of her lungs when her head slammed against the floor. But somehow, she managed to hold tight to the button. Benton flailed at him but his energy was too weak, too spent. His fists passed through Scott unnoticed. Scott seized Jillian’s wrist in his hand and banged her fist against the hardwood floor until it opened. And as if in slow motion, Jillian watched, heartbroken, as the button rolled from her fingertips and spun like a top on the floor. Scott snatched it and thrust it in his pocket. “No!” Jillian wailed as he flipped her onto her stomach. Her chin thumped the floor. Pain shot through her shoulders as a sharp knee pressed brutally into her spine and her arms were yanked up high behind her. He pulled her wrists and ankles together and with a series of quick, jerky motions, he wound the belt of her robe so tightly around her arms and feet she thought the circulation would be cut off. She felt roped and tied like an animal ready for the slaughter.

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But none of that mattered. Scott had the button. She, Jillian, had failed. Miserably. She had lost Benton forever. For eternity. A moan tore from her chest. She struggled against the makeshift bonds but to no avail. Twisting her head, she looked up from the cold, hard floor to where Benton stood. Love and compassion flooded his gaze. Tears blurred Jillian’s vision. In the corner of the room, Scott was ripping her phone out of the jack. He dashed the cordless handset to the floor and ground it underneath his heavy army boot. He wasn’t going to kill her. Somehow, that knowledge did little to comfort her. Jillian heard the sound of her own voice. “Why are you so bent on revenge?” “Revenge?” He laughed. It was a sick, angry sound. “This isn’t revenge. It’s justice,” Scott sneered as he strode toward the doorway. Jillian’s gaze slammed into Benton’s. Regret and sorrow tinged his eyes. A sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “My love for you is my courage.” Jillian sobbed helplessly. She somehow twisted onto her side. “Benton, no! Don’t let him do this to you.” She battled against her bonds. He was fading. Fading. Panic gushed through her veins. “No!” she wailed until she thought her lungs would burst. “No!” The whole house shook as the front door slammed shut.

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Chapter Nineteen Jillian’s first reaction was to lie there on the hard floor and sob. Benton was gone. Benton was lost to her forever. Scott was going to offer his spirit to the soul collectors. Benton would have the same fate as Lynn, as those revenants she had seen in the cemetery. But then something sparked inside her. Some glimmer of hope she couldn’t ignore. Where had Scott taken the button? Where did he plan to do this evil, awful thing? She was not helpless. She was not powerless. She was psychic. And she could use her ability to find him—to stop this. Ignoring the pain shooting through various parts of her body, she grew still and closed her eyes. She inhaled deeply and tried to draw vibrations of Scott to her. Nothing surfaced. “Dammit, Jillian, come on,” she said out loud. “Come on!” Gritting her teeth, she held her breath and tried again. Still nothing. But then, a voice inside her told her to relax, to open. She could do this. She knew she could. Willing herself to relax, she drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs to capacity. She blew it out slowly. Chills washed over her. She breathed in again and images flooded her. Scott’s truck was racing along the dark Nashville city streets. And then she knew. Scott was taking the button to Mt. Olivet cemetery—to Benton’s grave. Jillian’s eyes flew open. She had to get free of these bonds. She had to call Theo. She had to stop this. Her gaze darted around the room. If she could get to the scissors or a knife…but they were in the kitchen. It would be too late by the time she scooted that far across the floor. Her gaze came to a dead stop on the shards of mirror on her bedroom floor where the shot had shattered the glass. Hope swelled in her chest. Like a caterpillar, she shifted and inched toward the broken glass. There were pieces big enough. She turned and grappled with her fingers until finally, she managed to get a piece. Her shoulders ached. Her back burned. The only thing keeping her going

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was the hope of saving Benton. She’d pulled him free of the soul collectors before and she could do it again. With a grunt, she tried to turn the makeshift knife in her hand but dropped it. The chiming sound it made when it hit the floor was sickening. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Come on, Jillian. You can do this. Try again.” Her fingertips sought the glass once more. And once more, she managed to finagle it into place. The edges were sharp and when she tried to hold it tightly enough to sever the bonds, it sliced into her fingers. She cried out but forced herself to ignore the searing, stinging pain as she sawed at the terry cloth belt wound around her ankles. The shard of glass continued to slice into her fingers but Jillian’s focus was solely on Benton. His voice resounded in her head. Strange how one kind of pain overrides another. Holding her breath, she sawed and sawed, feeling sticky, wet blood running down her wrists. She had to get free. She had to save Benton. It seemed an eternity before her feet sprang free. She clambered off the floor, kicked free of the sheet and, hands bound, clumsily ran headlong to the kitchen. Banging her shoulder against the phone, she managed to knock it off the wall. It hit the floor with a hollow-sounding thud. Sinking to the tile floor, she tried to twist around to see the numbers to dial 9-1-1. A recorded voice came on the line. “If you’d like to make a call please hang up and…” Jillian’s heart sank. Frustration burned in her veins. She hit the reset button and tried again, her fingers leaving bloody prints on the phone. This time, she heard a woman’s voice on the other end. “Nashville, Davidson 9-1-1.” Relief threatened to overwhelm her and when she tried to speak her voice came out in a choked sob. She cleared her throat and forced her words. “This is Jillian Drew. I need you to get in contact with Captain Theo Carter immediately. I know where Scott Bowers is.” “Ma’am, are you at—” Jillian interrupted. She didn’t have time for that. “Call Theo right now and tell him to go to Mt. Olivet Cemetery. It’s a matter of life and death!” Bracing against her kitchen cabinets, she slid back up. Pain shot through her back and legs. She rushed to the silverware drawer and had to reach in backward, hands tied. She fumbled for a serrated blade. Her fingers finally closed around the hard, wooden handle of a knife. She worked it between the bonds tying her wrist and sawed until her arms burned. At length, the tough terry cloth yielded and her wrists burst free.

***** The Jag’s tires squealed as Jillian sped around a curve. She punched the gas pedal and the car growled as the engine kicked into gear. 146

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She had no idea what she would do when she got to Mt. Olivet. She had no weapon. She’d dialed Theo on the cell phone and the call had gone straight to voice mail. Hopefully, that meant he was on the line with Nashville P.D. and hopefully, it meant Theo and the police would get there first. What if Scott had already given Benton up to the soul collectors? How would she ever know? Scott had the button. Would Benton’s soul be lost, forever trapped somewhere between heaven and earth? Her heart tightened until it felt like a stone in her chest. A lump rose in her throat. Tears stung her eyes but she refused to give in to the tears. Gripping the steering wheel, she weaved around a street sweeper and then sailed through a red light. The Mt. Olivet entrance was just down the street, just past the Catholic cemetery. Jillian hardly braked as she flew into the entrance. As she neared the top of the hill, there was no sign of flashing blue lights—or anyone, for that matter. Could she have been wrong? Why, now that she’d finally come to some sort of acceptance of her psychic ability, had it failed her? A wave of terror surged inside her followed by a sickening sense of utter hopelessness. “No,” she said aloud. “No.” She swallowed it down. This was not the time to give up. Switching off the car’s lights, she barely gassed the Jag down the narrow pathways through the massive cemetery, the car’s high-performance engine purring near-silently. Her gaze scanned the darkened graveyard. The tombstones shone an eerie shade of blue in the moonlight. The limbs of ancient oaks loomed blacker than the black sky. Jillian’s heart fluttered rapidly in her chest. Her grip tightened on the steering wheel. Where was Theo? Where were the police? Where is Scott? The car crept quietly past a mausoleum and a human silhouette came into view. Jillian froze, stopping the car. In the murky darkness, she could make out the figure of Scott Bowers in the distance—standing at the head of Benton’s grave. Jillian squinted. What was he holding up? The button? A little thrill of hope swept through her. Maybe she’d gotten here in time. Maybe Benton was safe. But then Jillian’s stomach did a somersault. The revenant ghosts were creeping out from behind gravestones, all lumbering like ghastly sleepwalkers toward Scott. One slid past the driver’s side window. Jillian gasped. A shudder crawled up her spine as she recalled their reaching, grasping hands, their hollow, dead faces. Benton… Would he be like them when the soul collectors were done with him? An image of his beautiful, smiling face morphing into one of those belonging to the vacant, gray ghosts rose like bile in Jillian’s thoughts. She couldn’t let that happen. She would not. 147

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Resolve flooded her being. But how was she ever going to overpower Scott? If only she had a weapon. A gun. A knife. Something— Jillian’s lips parted. She did have a weapon. The Jaguar. But she knew she only had one shot at stopping him. Just one. But could she kill a man? She bit her bottom lip. Killing Lynn had been an accident. Could she deliberately take a life? Terror and doubt surged and everything inside her screamed at her to wait for the police. But then a strange, silver, glittering light appeared just beyond Scott. Mesmerized, Jillian stared as the particles seemed to fuse together and form into Benton, his light softly luminous against the backdrop of gravestones and night sky. Shoulders slumped, his head hung and he looked weak, tired. But he wasn’t gone. The soul collectors hadn’t come for him yet. Her heart soared. Dammit, where’s Theo? Jillian sat stock-still in the car. What should she do? Wait? Confront Scott? She reminded herself that he had a gun. He would kill her. She didn’t doubt that. Squeezing her eyes shut, she warred with her choices. An unearthly shriek rent the air. Jillian’s eyes snapped open and her heart turned to ice. Soul collectors swarmed toward Benton, swooping, diving to pick at him like vultures. “No!” Jillian screamed and, gripping the leather-encased steering wheel with all her might, she jammed the gas pedal to the floorboard. The Jag’s powerful V6 engine kicked into gear and the car shot forward, careening over curbs and low-lying gravestones. As the car careened toward him, Scott turned. Bracing herself, Jillian saw Scott’s eyes go impossibly wide before closing her own and turning her head. She heard and felt the sickening, bone-crushing force of a body coming across the hood, slamming into the windshield. Jillian screamed. The air bag exploded in her face as the Jag bounced to a rough abrupt stop, the two front tires lodging in the edge of Benton’s grave. Stunned, Jillian coughed. Her mouth tasted plastic and powdery. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs out of her brain. Trembling, she scrambled out of the car and fell on her hands and knees to the ground. Scott lay bloody and unmoving several feet away but a groan emanated from deep in his chest. He sputtered and coughed. Jillian stared. Something ethereal rose from his body. As it hovered toward her, it formed into a woman—the most beautiful woman Jillian had ever seen—Harriet Cooke. Pale but fully solid, Hattie’s hard gaze never left Jillian’s. Dark eyebrows arched like delicate wings above her icy brown eyes. Her voluminous pale skirts audibly swept the ground as she approached.

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Jillian shot a quick glance at Benton as she scrambled to her feet. He was pallid, transparent—but the soul collectors had backed off and were merely hovering, watching. Hattie was coming closer. Jillian’s heart thundered. She struggled to remain calm, to think. She could fight Scott. He’d been a flesh-and-blood man. But how could she fight a ghost? Jillian took a step backward as Hattie’s hooped skirt brushed the toe of her shoe. A chill pervaded Jillian’s bones. She shuddered at the utter coldness Hattie projected. Hattie fingers unfurled, revealing the button. A mirthless smile claimed her lips. “I will take him to hell with me!” The soul collectors dipped closer. “Hattie, don’t do this! Benton loved you.” The tears were falling now, coursing unchecked down Jillian’s cheeks. If only she’d waited for Theo. Now there was nothing she could do but watch the soul collectors take Benton. Why had she been so impetuous? So stupid? Hattie merely laughed, whirled and crossed the muddy ground. Her ghost passed through the car and floated over the open grave to where Benton had slumped to his knees. “Benton?” Jillian called to him. “Benton, please…don’t let this happen!” Weakly, he lifted his gaze to hers. He muttered her name but the sound oddly did not match the movement of his mouth. Sorrow emanated from his gray eyes. Sorrow and resignation. He’d given up. Despair flooded Jillian. “No!” she wailed. “Hattie…don’t do this!” But Hattie only laughed again and seized a fistful of Benton’s coat in her hand. Her pale face turned to the sky, to where the soul collector’s lingered. “Now you have two of us.” No sooner had she uttered the words than an unearthly hiss cut through the air and the soul collectors dove on their quarry. Jillian’s heart sank. She dropped to her knees as the black beings engulfed Hattie and Benton. The stench of sulfur assailed her nostrils. Hattie’s tortured screams filled the night air but Benton remained eerily silent. They were taking him, taking him and there was nothing she could do about it. The other revenants slithered out of the darkness and surrounded them, their gaunt, staring faces hollow and frightening. Jillian doubled over and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to close out the chilling sounds of Hattie’s screams and the horrible, nauseating stink. She was too late. Too late. She could not let him go like this. There had to be something… Clarity swept over her. She did have something. She had her Light.

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She inhaled and raised her arms to the heavens and with all the power she possessed, she called in the Light. She called in the power of the Universe, beseeching for mercy, bargaining and begging for Benton’s soul. The darkness parted and a Light so strong it was palpable, visible—blinding—descended on the hilltop. Jillian squinted against it, shielding her eyes with the back of hand. Some of the soul collectors were fleeing. One dove at her, its claws raking her arm. Jillian gasped and concentrated her Light on the creature. She watched, amazed, as lightning spiraled from her fingertips and forced the being back. It was working. It was working. Her heart soared but her relief was short lived. Her Light began to grow dimmer and as it subsided, the soul collectors began to return. “No,” Jillian screamed above the din. “I won’t let you take him!” And then, Amy’s words resounded in her head. Love is the strongest power in the Universe. Jillian’s gaze found Benton. Had she ever truly known love before her encounter with Benton? Had she ever understood its power to render a person utterly vulnerable and yet empower them in ways unimaginable? Love. Jillian took a deep breath, mentally connecting her mind and heart, allowing herself to become one with love. Her thoughts flooded with images of Benton holding her, kissing her, loving her, until she felt as if her heart would burst. She exhaled slowly, projecting that power toward the soul collectors, toward the revenants, toward Harriet Cooke—and toward Benton. The wind rose and whistled through the trees. Thunder boomed. The soul collectors’ howls rang out in a strange harmony with Hattie’s screams. Pain seared through Jillian as if her own soul was being ripped out of her body. But still, she drew love in through her being as if she were a magnet, radiating it, connecting her soul with Benton’s soul, becoming one with him and flooding him with her love until she fell, exhausted, facedown in the damp grass. The night was suddenly still and quiet and Jillian realized she was cold and sore and aching from head to toe. There was no more hissing. There were no more screams. Only a deathly, pervading silence more terrifying than the noise. Jillian took deep, gulping breaths of air. A scorching pain burned her palm. She opened her eyes and unclenched her fist. It was the button! But how… Jillian gasped as it began to smolder and sizzle. Acrid smoke choked her and she watched as the button disintegrated, leaving nothing but a charred stain on her bloody palm. Jillian’s gaze shot to Benton. Bathed in a brilliant white glow, he smiled at her. The other revenants were no longer hollow shades. Their faces were bright, gleaming—and turned toward the Light which radiated down from above. Even Harriet smiled.

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The soul collectors sizzled and exploded like fireworks when the Light’s rays touched them. Vaguely aware the Light was drawing the souls up one by one, Jillian could only stare at Benton, his handsome face illuminated by the Light. Joy coursed through her being. She had rescued him. She had saved not only him but all of them. Scrambling up off the ground, she staggered across the damp grass until she was only feet from him. He was beautiful in the glittering Light. Beautiful and whole. But the Light was about to take him away. His feet left the ground. “Wait! Wait!” he yelled at the sky and at once, he descended, his boots firmly returning to the ground. Jillian trembled. “Will I see you again?” A solitary tear made its way down her cheek. Benton’s eyes shone with gratitude, with love. He glanced up at the source of the Light and then returned his gaze to Jillian’s. His gray eyes turned wistful, sad. “I see heaven…but I don’t want to leave you.” Jillian’s heart turned over hard. If only she could touch him, hold him, feel his arms around her one more time. But she knew better. He was free of the Earth’s bonds. Free. She had released him and she knew he had to go. “I love you,” she said, her voice but a whisper. “I will always love you…but they’re waiting for you.” Benton’s gray eyes rimmed with tears. “I’ll come back for you. I promise.” He extended his fingers toward her. And for one brief instant, they touched before he was swept into the Light and Jillian was left in darkness. Bringing her trembling hand to her lips, she sank once more to the ground. Tears welled in her eyes and coursed down her cheeks. He was gone. Gone. But the pain she felt was mingled with an odd sense of joy. She finally understood what Amy had felt the night she’d sent their mother into the Light. She knew now. And in that clarity, all her fear, all her guilt, all her remorse left her body in an audible rush, leaving in its place understanding and love. Through the power of love, she had saved all those souls—all those lost souls. And through her own love and forgiveness, she had even released Harriet Cooke’s spirit into the Light. It was an oddly empowering feeling and Jillian’s whole body hummed with it. She sniffed and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. Her gaze swept the star-filled sky as she pushed herself up. Could Benton see her now? She felt as if he could, as if they could all watch over her from the Other Side. A sudden clap of thunder shook the earth and a lightning bolt coursed to the ground right in front of Jillian, the force of it knocking her off her feet. Heart thundering, Jillian blinked and there, where the lightning had struck, stood a man. Unbelieving, she gaped. Jillian shot to her feet. “Benton?” He stared. “Benton?” Jillian was incredulous.

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He looked at his hands and then raked his palms across the fabric of his uniform as if to see if it were real. And then he rushed into Jillian’s arms. He was completely solid, utterly hard—and absolutely alive. Jillian clung to him, sobbing. “What happened? What happened?” He tilted her head back. Joy filled his eyes as he searched hers. He burrowed his fingers into her hair. The breath left his lungs in a quick rush of air. He whooped and lifted her off her feet, spinning her in circles. Jillian could scarcely believe it herself but here he was in her arms, a living, breathing man—alive! Sirens wailed in the distance, coming closer and closer, but Jillian did not leave Benton’s embrace. Instead, she clung to him. She had never known such joy. Such love. She wasn’t sure she understood it, but he was here and he was all hers. She searched his gaze. “I thought I’d lost you forever.” “No, darlin’. You saved me.” He practically glowed. “Your love saved me and because of what you did, they let me come back to you.” Their gazes clung for another heartbeat before his mouth descended on hers. He tore his lips away only to say, “Damn, I love you.” Laughing, he lifted her off her feet and spun her around once more. And then he kissed her again.

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Epilogue

Six months later Jillian knew she shouldn’t have worn her brand-new pumps to this place but she had not wanted to go all the way home to change and risk missing this. She clicked the key remote to lock the doors of her new black Jaguar, hoping it would be safe here, parked on the steep hill. A dark flutter of remembrance passed through her when she saw the historical marker. The first time she’d come to Shy’s Hill, she hadn’t read it. Now, a little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she read the words raised in gleaming silver on the black metal marker. “Battle of Nashville. Shy’s Hill. On this hill was fought the decisive encounter of the Battle of Nashville, December 16, 1864. At 4:15 p.m., a Federal assault at the angle on the top of the hill broke the Confederate line. Colonel W. B. Shy and General T.B. Smith, 20th TN Infantry, were killed.” “Not hardly,” she said aloud and then started the steep climb to the summit. At the top of the hill, a historian dressed in the attire of a Confederate soldier was explaining the battle in lurid detail to a crowd of thoroughly enthralled high-school students. One spectator stared, slack jawed. “Man, you make it sound like you were there.” The dimple at the corner of Benton’s mouth deepened. A sense of pride surged through Jillian. Benton had made quite a name for himself as an imminent historian of the Civil War, especially in Nashville. Already, the book he had written on the regiment he’d commanded one hundred fifty years ago was at the publisher just waiting to be printed and distributed. Unaware he had actually taken part in the war, the press had interviewed him on the subject countless times and he’d become somewhat of a celebrity. Jillian’s gaze swept the students’ eager faces and then those of three female teachers who watched from the back of the group. They gaped openly at him, practically salivating. And when Benton’s gaze collided with hers and hung there for a heartbeat, Jillian’s stomach tightened. She knew he was all hers and would always be. “Any questions?” Benton’s commanding voice boomed over the kids. Several hands shot into the air. He pointed at a freckle-faced boy. “Mr. Smith,” the boy’s voice squeaked. “Were you related to the General Smith who was killed here?” “I guess you could say that,” Benton replied. “He was an ancestor of mine.” “Way cool!”

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He entertained a few more questions before the teachers herded the kids toward the stairs. Jillian heard the ladies commenting on Benton’s good looks as they filed past her on their way down the steep path. Smiling, Jillian approached him. He opened his arms and drew her into a tight hug before giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. He shot a furtive glance toward the path. “Are all those kids gone?” She nodded. “I didn’t see anyone else.” “Good,” he said as he tilted her face up to his. His mouth brushed hers softly and then his tongue slid between her lips as he deepened the kiss until a wave a heat rushed up her spine. It was a kiss filled with such passion and power—and deep, deep love— that it left Jillian breathless when he finally drew back just far enough to look into her eyes. His hands slid down her arms to her own, where he fingered her wedding band. “I love you, Jillian Smith.” She gave him a broad smile. The past six months had gone by like a whirlwind. Creating an identity for Benton had not been as difficult as Jillian had thought—with Theo’s help. At first, Theo had had qualms about connecting Jillian with document forgers but he said he’d turn his head—just this once. She and Benton had married as soon as they procured the proper papers and no one but Theo and Amy were the wiser. Theo had adamantly refused to listen to any of the details, simply holding his hands up and saying, “There are some things you just don’t need to know.” Amy hadn’t seemed all that surprised a ghost could come back to life, and she seemed happy enough for the couple. She had stopped giving psychic readings and Jillian knew a part of her would never recover from the horror of being buried alive. She’d sold her little house in West End and was planning to move south to Alabama where their stepbrother, Reed, lived. Jillian fervently hoped Amy would be able to find love and learn to trust a man, to share her life and find happiness the way she had with Benton. In the last year, Jillian had closed her office and was now profiling criminals for various police departments on a national basis. Her dead-on accuracy and knack for being able to speak with the actual murdered victims had even prompted a national television network to consider basing a weekly drama on her casework. They’d bought Benton’s boyhood home and had completely restored it, doing most of the work themselves—and Jillian had insisted on keeping the chair she’d found in the parlor on her first visit. “Darlin’.” Benton’s voice brought her out of her reverie. His gray eyes smoldered. “Are you positive all those kids are gone?” Comprehension flooded Jillian. Her pulse sped up. “Why?”

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He squeezed her hand and pressed it against the arousal which strained against his buttoned fly. Jillian gasped. “Here? Now?” He raised an eyebrow wickedly. One devilish dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth. “I found this little spot right over here behind a bench. Nobody will see us and—” Jillian interrupted. “Benton Smith! You mean to tell me that before a group of students arrived, you were up here scoping out a spot to…to…” She was unable to finish her question. Benton merely stood there, looking very guilty—and tremendously aroused. “To fuck you? Yes, that is exactly what I was doing.” Jillian inhaled sharply. Heat flooded her pussy. She couldn’t believe she was entertaining the idea of making love to him right here, outdoors, in a public place. But he was dangerously handsome with his searing gray gaze and wavy black hair. He still looked every bit the pirate with his moustache and spade beard and Jillian was so attracted to him and so utterly in love she was powerless to resist him. She blew out a resigned breath. “So, are you going to show me this spot you found or what?” And then, both sexy dimples became visible.

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About the Author Debra Glass’ previous experience as a medium inspired her interest in writing Alabama ghost stories, although she’s also got a passion for spine-tingling paranormal romance. Since 2002, Debra has written several books on regional folklore and has had numerous articles published in Fate Magazine and various Civil War magazines. Now she’s writing steamy erotic romance and dabbling in the paranormal with her Phantom Lovers series which features passionate and sexy ghosts who are guaranteed to keep you up at night! The author welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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