"I saw them, but too briefly to find out anything," he said regretfully.

She tried not to let her voice rise to a squeak. "You want want to see them?" to see them?"

"Of course."

"Oh." She took another long swallow of her beer. "Well, I don't."

"They're only here because they have something to say, something to ask. They need help clearing up the mystery surrounding their own deaths," Dillon explained.

"Then they should be following you you around," she whispered. " around," she whispered. "You're the investigator." the investigator."

"Yeah, I agree, and I admit to being perplexed about that myself. I mean, I understand Tanner Green. You were his last contact. But I was one of the last people to speak to Rudy, and you never even met him. I think he's too green, too new, and that he can't figure it out."

"Figure what out?" she asked.

"Sometimes the body dies but the soul, or whatever you want to call it, remains, because it's looking for justice. For closure, to use the trendy term. But sometimes it takes the soul, the ghost, a while to even figure out what's happened to him, much less how he can get the help he needs. Neither I, nor anyone I know, has all the answers. What's clear so far is that Tanner Green seems to be afraid."

"Afraid?" Jessy repeated skeptically.

Dillon smiled. "Yes. Afraid to accept death. But he seems to trust you and no one else."

"How can I tell him that I'm not trustworthy?" Jessy asked.

Dillon laughed at that. Jessy didn't.

"You can't," Dillon said. "But you can help me make contact with him, and when that happens, I can try to help him. And once he's gotten the help he needs, then he won't haunt you anymore."

"I'm supposed to introduce you to a ghost?" she asked incredulously.

He offered her a rueful smile. "Something like that, but not so easy, I'm afraid. You'll have to let him get close, and let him see that you trust me. Eventually he'll trust me, too, and let me know how I can help."

"Eventually?" she said with dismay.

"He's not trying to hurt you, you know," Dillon told her.

"Maybe not," she said. "but what if I'm driving and he suddenly pops up? Doesn't he realize I might run into a wall or take a few pedestrians out with me?"

"People don't always think rationally, and ghosts don't, either," he said, then changed the subject.

"Would you like another?" he asked, indicating her empty beer bottle.

She nodded.

This time, when he headed toward the kitchen, she rose and followed him. Clancy pattered along, as well, sitting at her feet when she took a stool at the counter.

"Have you always seen ghosts?" she asked him.

He smiled and shook his head. "I grew up on one of the Paiute reservations near here, and I was a wisea.s.s kid. My mom was a nurse who was working for the government, vaccinating kids. She met my dad, and they fell in love. They were a couple of dreamers, in love with the whole world. I was an only child, and when they moved onto a government military base-my dad joined the army, and we were sent to North Carolina-I suddenly became an oddity. Kids can be brutal. Not so much when they're really young. At that point they don't know Chinese from Indian, black man from Inuit. They see skin color the way most men see the color of someone's hair, but when they get older...Anyway, I started getting into sc.r.a.pes when I hit my teens. Nothing really bad, mostly because my parents would have been so disappointed. Then they were killed together in a small-plane crash. I turned into a real a.s.shole then. After their funeral-they were buried back here, in Nevada, because they both loved it here-I was at a bar, drinking pretty heavily, and I picked a fight with a big white burly guy just because he was blond." His smile twisted into a grim slash. "You're Lakota, right? Our tribes share a lot of the same myths and beliefs. You've heard the stories about the maiden who wears white, and the great white buffalo, and the magic that comes when they're seen? Well, I saw the maiden. She was at the funeral. At first I chalked it up to the trauma of my parents' deaths. Then, at the bar-right when I'd started the fight and the guy was about to rearrange my face-she stepped between us. She spoke to me. I can still hear her words. 'No. It's not the way. You must grow strong. Pain must never cause pain. You must find your peace-for them, for yourself.' I think some friends dragged me away and apologized for me, told the guy my folks had just died. Anyway, after that day...I started seeing...people. Ghosts. Then I met Adam."

"Adam Harrison," she said softly.

He nodded. "Adam had a son, Josh, and Adam adored him. He died, but he still hung around Adam, trying to help, even though Adam couldn't actually see him. Adam started putting together a team of people to look into cases with a paranormal angle because he always recognized the ability to see ghosts, to talk to them, in others, even though he didn't have it himself for many years. He's still not really able to see ghosts the way some of us can, but he's learned to sense their presence, sometimes even get a sense of what they want. In my family, the ability-which I thought for a long time was just me being crazy-is called nightwalking. It's being able to see what exists in a slightly different dimension, I guess. But it's not an evil ability. It's just frightening to some people, at first. When you think about it, though, the whole thing is actually kind of rea.s.suring."

"It's rea.s.suring to think I might end up seeing more more ghosts?" she asked. She realized that at some point he had come over to the counter, leaned across it and taken her hands. She liked the feeling. It was almost as if his warmth and vitality was pa.s.sing into her, as if he was giving her strength. ghosts?" she asked. She realized that at some point he had come over to the counter, leaned across it and taken her hands. She liked the feeling. It was almost as if his warmth and vitality was pa.s.sing into her, as if he was giving her strength.

He gave her hands a quick final squeeze, then released them, turning back to open the oven. He grabbed pot holders and drew out a foil pan of lasagna, which he set on a trivet on the counter. Then he looked at her. "I was glad to become a nightwalker," he said, "because it meant there was another place, another world after this one. That there was a supreme being and the essence of a person lived on." He smiled and shrugged. "My mom was a Catholic, so my spiritual ethic has a lot of elements mixed into it. In my mind, there's one big power, and it doesn't matter how you recognize it or what you call it. I think a person's time on earth is best spent learning how to be decent to others. If there is a heaven or a great white prairie in the sky, I know my parents have earned their place there. And that's something I find rea.s.suring."

She stared back at him. It was a wonderful thing, belief, she had to admit.

"Want to set the table?" he asked her.

"Uh, sure."

He was already reaching into the refrigerator for the salad makings. She slipped off the stool and started retrieving plates from the cabinet he indicated, then found silverware, napkins and gla.s.ses, and set them out in the family room, on a table that looked out over the patio.

"This is a very nice house," she told him.

"Thanks. I like it."

"I guess you make a decent living as a ghost buster," she said, hoping her tone was light enough, then thinking maybe she shouldn't have spoken at all. "Sorry, that was nosy and none of my business."

"It's all right. We're paid pretty much the same rates as any investigators, but we do all right. Adam negotiates the contracts and gives us our a.s.signments. We can turn down any case we don't feel comfortable with, though."

"Emil Landon just doesn't seem like the kind of guy you'd work for," she said, and then realized the rudeness of her comment.

He laughed. "Honestly? I loathe the b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"So why did you accept the a.s.signment?"

He shrugged. "I just figured that if Adam wanted me to, there had to be a reason somewhere. Now, even if Landon fires me, I'll stay on it. I barely knew Tanner Green, and I knew Rudy Yorba even less, but they deserve justice. I won't let Yorba's death go down as an accident. Not when he was murdered."

"You can't blame yourself for his death," she told him.

A slight heightening of his color told her that she had touched a nerve, and she was suddenly sorry she'd said anything.

"He might have been targeted already. I just don't know. And that's why solving this is so important."

He finished fixing the salad and poured iced tea for them to drink with dinner. While they ate, the conversation flowed easily. She asked questions, he answered them, and then he asked her about her life. He was a comfortable man to be with, she thought as she found herself telling him about the other cast members and about Timothy-even about old Mrs. Teasdale and the other people at the home who made it such a nice place for Timothy to live.

The frozen lasagna was actually very good, which she hadn't expected, and the salad was fresh and delicious. Best of all, she was starting to feel as if she had known Dillon Wolf forever.

She didn't want to leave.

But when the dishes were washed, Clancy fed, and they'd even had coffee out back by the pool, she decided it was time to say something before she over-stayed her welcome.

"I should go home."

"Do you have a pet?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "Huh? No."

"Then why are you worried about leaving?" he asked.

"Well, my car is still at the police station, for one thing," she told him.

"I have friends there. Nothing will happen to it," he told her. "Look, you've been scared-nearly frightened to death-tonight. Stay here. There's a guest room. And a computer-anything you might need."

"I shouldn't stay. It wouldn't be right."

"What's really right and what's wrong?" he asked her. "Are you worried about what people might think? Are you worried about your grandfather?"

"No, no, Timothy's fine. He stays at the home most of the time. I take him out for weekends, sometimes, and I had him the other night because I was afraid they were going to force him out. I don't usually play a lot of money at the c.r.a.ps table. Not that I'm anti-gambling or anything. It can be fun, if you don't get carried away. But-" She broke off, looking at him. "I'm babbling, I think."

"Babble all you want. I still think you should stay."

"Are you using me as bait?" she asked him. "Are you trying to lure a ghost in?"

"Aren't you trying to get rid of a ghost?"

She laughed.

He stood. "Come on. I'll show you the guest room."

He was serious, she realized. Apparently he really wasn't after her body, and she had to admit, she was somewhat disappointed. He led her to the guest room, which was done in mauve and a sand shade that complemented the desert tones of the house and yard. The guest room even had its own bath.

And a new wide-screen television.

He offered her a T-shirt and baggy sweatpants to sleep in, and she thanked him, realizing that this was the first time in what seemed like forever that she hadn't been afraid.

That she was even ready to see a ghost.

He left her, excusing himself to go work on the computer. She showered and changed, and was somewhat dismayed to realize that she liked wearing his clothes, as if they were a touch of the man himself.

Her cell phone rang, startling her. She made a dive for her purse and answered it quickly. Sandra's voice came over the line. "Are you all right? Why haven't you called me? I've been waiting for you to call," she chided.

"I'm fine. Did I say I was going to call?"

"No. But I'm worried sick about you. Is everything all right?"

"Everything is fine. And thanks for caring and checking up, Sandra."

"So you're home and you're all locked in?"

"Everything is fine," Jessy repeated, then hesitated before adding, "I'm at Dillon Wolf's house."

Sandra's shriek was so loud that Jessy winced. "You're what? what?"

"Calm down. It's not a date or anything," Jessy said quickly. "I'm not even with him anymore."

"You're at his house without him?"

"No, he's here. He's in the other room, on his computer."

"I'm going to want details. I hope you know that." Jessy heard Reggie saying something in the background, followed by an excited explosion that matched her mother's.

"What's going on?" Jessy demanded.

"Reggie wants details, too. I told her no, but that doesn't mean I I don't get them." don't get them."

"There are are no details," Jessy insisted. "And I'm going now. But, Sandra?" no details," Jessy insisted. "And I'm going now. But, Sandra?"

"What?"

"Thanks for calling me."

"You bet, kid. I'm going to keep keep calling, too." calling, too."

With a smile, Jessy closed her phone. It wasn't such a bad world. She had really good friends. And she didn't have to be afraid, at least not tonight, because Dillon Wolf was just beyond the door.

It was probably a little late to be calling anyone, but Dillon had known Dr. Doug Tarleton, one of Las Vegas's top medical examiners, for many years. Doug either answered his phone or he didn't. If he saw the caller ID and wasn't interested, he wouldn't answer. If he was sleeping, the only number that would ring through was his emergency number.

Doug answered the phone on the second ring.

"Dillon Wolf," he said, without even a h.e.l.lo. "I was wondering when the h.e.l.l I'd be hearing from you."

"Well, I was trying to go through proper channels," Dillon said.

Doug laughed. "You mean Jerry Cheever? He's a decent cop. He's just got a chip on his shoulder. And, frankly, he's not as enamored of Harrison Investigations as a lot of folks are."

"He just acts like he's got a stick up his a.s.s, is all," Dillon agreed. "Maybe it's not his fault. Maybe a bully stole his Froot Loops when he was kid. Anyway, I've been trying to keep the channels of communication going through him, but it seemed past time to start going straight to the source. Where did I catch you?"

"I'm still at the morgue."

"You are?"

"Yeah. I was just finishing up when the report on that young guy came in-the hit-and-run victim. Man, dead is dead, I know, but the injuries that guy had...h.e.l.l. Thank G.o.d the impact broke his neck-along with crushing his rib cage, and every bone in his chest and pelvis. Anyway, I had just finished reading that-d.a.m.n thing was as long as a book-when the tox reports on Tanner Green came in. Get this. The guy was tripping."

"Tripping? You mean acid?"

"Yup, LSD. Some bodyguard-he must have been higher than a kite."

"Well, he wasn't on duty," Dillon mused. "You got anything else?"

"He'd have been dead before fifty, I can tell you that. His liver was going, and judging by his cholesterol, he must have dined on red meat for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Plus, he was overweight. But the cause of death was a punctured lung. He drowned in his own blood."