She was edgy around him, and she wasn't sure why. She wasn't afraid of him, exactly, it was more that she was afraid of...how much he seemed to know about her, the way he saw through to the vulnerability she longed to deny.

"Are you all right?" he asked, looking at her skeptically.

"Fine, thank you." Oh, G.o.d, she was such a liar. And he could see it, of course. He didn't ask another question, he just studied her with his dark, intense eyes, and she found herself babbling. "I just came in to see what was going on with the investigation."

"Sure." He glanced at his watch. "You working today?"

"Yes."

"The same show?" When she nodded, he asked, "Does that mean you have time for a late breakfast or an early lunch...or just a cup of coffee?"

She wanted to say no. She wanted to run away.

Which was just crazy. And seriously, did she want to be alone right now?

"Please?" he added.

Why couldn't he be so obnoxious that she would have a good reason to say no?

"I guess brunch would be a good thing," she said.

"Great," he told her, then laid his hand against the base of her back to usher her from the station. Outside, he suggested that they take his car, offering to drive her back afterward for hers, and she reluctantly agreed.

He drove a small hybrid. Vegas might be a city of extravagance, but thinking about the man, she decided she wasn't surprised.

He chose a charming mom-and-pop place she'd never been to before. At first she was surprised by that, and then she realized that Las Vegas was filled with restaurants, many of which came and went in the blink of an eye, so perhaps it wasn't so strange after all.

The restaurant was sparkling clean; the little vases of flowers on the table were fresh. The room itself was sunny and airy, but despite that, as they sat down, she looked around, afraid she was going to see the mournful eyes of Tanner Green staring at her. Pleading with her. But for what?

"The eggs Benedict are excellent," he suggested. "And the soups are homemade."

She wasn't really interested in the food. "Eggs Benedict sounds fine," she told him.

The waitress turned out to be one of the owners. Dillon chatted pleasantly with her for a few minutes as he ordered.

Once cups of steaming coffee had been set before them, he looked at her and smiled. "Why have you been avoiding me?" he asked her.

"I-I'm not," she protested.

"The thing is, I think you need me," he told her soberly.

It wasn't a line, and she knew it. Still, she tossed back a lock of hair and said, "Well, that's a new come-on," she said.

He didn't reply, didn't even crack a smile.

"I think your life might be in danger," he said flatly.

Her fingers trembled as she held her coffee cup; she decided not to try to take a sip. "Why?" she breathed.

He leaned toward her. "Tanner Green spoke to you before he died. I saw it on the tapes."

"But...only the cops have those tapes, right?" she asked him. "Are you trying to tell me that the police department is crooked?"

"I don't know how many copies of those tapes are out there. As for the police...it's a huge department. I'm sure not everyone is crooked, but that doesn't mean some someone can't be. And the casino has the tapes, too. Look, you heard about the guy who was killed in that hit-and-run-un, right?"

"Yes. It's very sad."

"No, it's more than sad. I'm almost positive he was killed because he spoke with me," he told her seriously.

"Oh, great-and now I'm I'm speaking with you." speaking with you."

"Jessy, you know something, and sooner or later the killer's going to figure that out," he said.

Eggs Benedict, aromatic and enticing, were set before her. She picked up her fork and cut a bite, then couldn't bring the fork to her lips.

Tell him, she thought. she thought. Just spit out that one word and it will be all over. Just spit out that one word and it will be all over.

She stared down at her coffee cup, but when she looked up again, about to speak, she went silent in stunned terror instead.

Tanner Green was sitting at the table behind Dillon Wolf, staring at her morosely.

Worse. At the table behind him him-not with him, just behind him-was another specter.

She'd never met the man in life, but she'd seen his picture on the news, and she couldn't mistake the face.

Rudy Yorba.

Dillon Wolf saw her expression and swung around to see what she was staring at.

As Dillon turned, Tanner Green leaped to his feet, jostling the table in the process. The salt and pepper shakers rattled.

And then he was gone, with Rudy Yorba disappearing seemingly into thin air right along with him.

Several other diners looked around, aware of something, but seeing nothing.

Not Dillon Wolf. He leaned toward her and said flatly, "You saw them." It wasn't a question.

She stared at him, blinked, and tried to deny it.

"I didn't see anything."

He had seen them, too, she suddenly realized.

She wanted to scream.

A part of her heard chatter, laughter, the clink of cups and the sounds of forks on plates. She heard music playing in the background, something country, pleasant and soft.

She jumped up, forgetting all about her food.

"You have to stay away from me," she told Dillon.

He had risen when she did. He grimly dropped money on the table, and when she turned to flee the restaurant, he was right behind her.

In the parking lot, she remembered that they had come in his car.

She winced, but didn't jump, when she felt his hand on her arm. When she turned, she saw the light of empathy and concern in his eyes, and she was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry, right there in the parking lot. She was tempted to throw herself into his arms, wishing she could forget all of this-the murder, the ghost-and suggest that she screw work and, well, h.e.l.l, screw him, as well.

But that wasn't her. No matter what was going on in her life or how attracted to him she felt.

"You're seeing Tanner Green," he said without inflection.

"No. Tanner Green is dead," she said.

"He's a ghost, and he's out there," Dillon a.s.sured her. His hand was still on her arm, and she found herself feeling inexplicably grateful. Her knees had gone to water, and her mind kept insisting that none of this could be real, not even the man before her.

She stared at him, the misery suddenly rising uncontrollably. "Why? Why is he doing this to me? Why the h.e.l.l is he haunting me?"

Dillon leaned toward her, eyes intent. "Short and simple. He needs you."

8.

It was time to find the treasure. And, as amazing as it seemed, with her going through the entire performance on autopilot, she was managing to do a decent job. Somehow she'd compartmentalized the part of her that was in shock and terror, so she could make the show everything it should be for the kids.

She didn't remember saying much as they'd driven to the casino. She still didn't have her car. Dillon had suggested that she would be better off not driving, and she had agreed with him. He had hung around in the hall while she got dressed, and her coworkers had teased her about her handsome admirer. He spent a few minutes talking to the guard, and when the show began, he watched from the audience. He was sitting with a bunch of what looked like six-year-olds, and he seemed to be having a good time. He seemed so austere at times, and yet he could also unbend and have fun, and easily elicit trust from those around him.

Everything was going to be all right, she insisted to herself.

She was careful not to look toward the back of the room. It was bad enough seeing Tanner Green. It was adding insult to injury, being haunted by Rudy Yorba, a man she'd never even met. Not that she'd ever been formally introduced to Tanner Green, of course.

She made it through the show.

And when it was all over, when the pictures had been taken and the last gold-covered chocolate coin had been given away, Dillon was still there, waiting for her.

In the dressing room, she scrubbed her face, managed some casual conversation with a few other cast members and changed back into her street clothes. Dillon was in the hall, and when she joined him, she once again resisted the temptation to reach out for him, bury her head against his shoulder and cry. Or maybe just scream. She tried not to look like a doe caught in the headlights as she said, "Thanks for waiting."

She was surprised to see the admiration in his eyes. "You were terrific."

"You think?"

"Hey, not many people have to admit that not one, but two, ghosts are following them around, then go out onstage."

He should have been joking, she thought, because the words were just that crazy. Instead, he was dead serious.

"I think you need some company, and I know for sure you need some food," he said. "How would you feel about seeing my place? I have a house, a yard, the whole bit, and best of all, it's not far away. You didn't eat, and I'm not a great cook, but I can manage a mean frozen lasagna with a fresh salad."

"Your house will be fine," she said. She didn't care where they went-as long as he didn't leave her alone.

It took only a few minutes to reach his raised ranchstyle house, which wasn't far from the Strip. There was an adobe wall around the yard, which was handsomely landscaped with cacti and stone-bordered gardens. Inside, they were immediately greeted by a huge dog.

"Clancy, be polite. This is Jessy Sparhawk. I know she looks like she should be Swedish, but she's actually part Lakota. Clancy is Belgian," he informed Jessy.

"She's beautiful," Jessy told him awkwardly. It was true; the dog was was beautiful-and very friendly. She didn't jump up or s...o...b..r, but she was happy to be petted, though it was apparent that she adored her master. beautiful-and very friendly. She didn't jump up or s...o...b..r, but she was happy to be petted, though it was apparent that she adored her master.

"Come on in and have a seat," Dillon offered.

"Thanks," she said.

She heard a slight jingling sound and looked around nervously, but she couldn't see anything. At least neither Tanner Green nor Rudy Yorba seemed to have followed her.

Dillon was studying her as if he was about to say something, but apparently he thought better of it, because he turned and headed through the stone-paved entryway into the living room. Native American art decorated the room, representing a number of different tribes. She recognized some of the pieces as local Paiute art, and some she recognized because they were similar to pieces in Timothy's collection. Lakota dolls sat on the mantel, several dream catchers hung in the windows, and she recognized a Seminole shirt on one wall, ringed by small Inuit pieces.

There was a high-def television set opposite a leather sofa and matching chairs, and a cypress coffee table. Steps led up to a counter separating the kitchen from the living room, and beyond that, she could see a family room and French doors that led out to a small pool and patio, with the yard enclosed by an extension of the adobe wall, which was higher there in the back.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked her.

"Yes, thank you."

"What?"

"I don't care, as long as it has alcohol in it," she said, sinking down onto the sofa. It was definitely a masculine room. She saw no sign that any female-other than Clancy-shared the s.p.a.ce.

"Beer or bourbon, those are your choices-well, other than gla.s.s or bottle?"

"You can probably just hand me the bottle of bourbon," she joked, then said, "No, I didn't mean that. A beer will be fine."

He came out with two, then returned to the kitchen. She sat back with her beer, letting herself appreciate the art and artifacts that gave the room its character. It felt good to be sitting there in silence-and safe.

He returned in a couple of minutes with a platter holding cheese, sliced pepperoni, fruit and chips. "I hope you're not a vegetarian or a health-food addict," he said.

"No," she told him, and suddenly she was starving. She reached for a piece of cheese, which was delicious, and then another. She forced herself to slow down. He had taken one of the nearby chairs, and she smiled over at him. "Thanks. This really hits the spot."

"Sure. You must be starving by now."

Clancy came and lay down between them. The dog didn't beg, even when Dillon reached down and stroked her head.

"You still doing okay?" he asked.

Jessy nodded. Then she stared at him, taking a long swallow of beer. "Harrison Investigations is a...a ghost-busting organization, isn't it?" she asked.

He smiled. "The truth? Sometimes, yes. Other times we go in and find out that there's a natural explanation for a 'haunting' or whatever is supposedly going on."

"But...you saw them," she whispered. "You saw Tanner Green and Rudy Yorba, the same as I did." She couldn't believe she was admitting out loud that she'd seen a ghost. Two ghosts.