He dipped his chin, as if he understood. “All I can say is I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” Though for once, she’d been able to say David’s name without her voice cracking. “It’s been really tough. David and I were mates. That’s why I just don’t understand.”
“Mates. Interesting. During my time on earth, I never had the privilege of meeting my mate.”
“Not everyone does. I got lucky. And I don’t think it’s too much to ask that he contact me. Or, if there’s a rule to prevent that, he could reach out to someone else and send a message to me.” It dawned on her that was what all the other spirits she’d sent away had been trying to do and for all she knew, David might have had the same luck if he’d made the attempt.
“Sometimes, when a soul has suffered a traumatic injury, he is taken away and given positive, healing energy,” the handsome ghost continued. “Time passes differently there. Your David may not even be aware eighteen months has passed since his death. For him, it may feel merely like minutes.”
His words felt like a soothing salve poured on a festering wound. They helped, even if she didn’t really understand the logic behind what he’d said. The connection between mates should have transcended both space and time.
This ghost simply didn’t understand. She felt bad for him; she really did. And she felt worse for his poor sister. Being held prisoner in a dark place sounded like her worst nightmare come to life. Add in serial killer, and it went way beyond the realm of terrifying. So much so that she knew she didn’t want to have anything to do with it.
Now to convince him of that. She swallowed hard, lifted her chin and boldly met his gaze.
“Your eyes are the color of burnished copper,” he said.
Nonplussed, she completely lost her train of thought. “Uh. Thanks. I guess.”
The quick flash of a devastating smile further derailed her. “You’re welcome. And I should thank you, for agreeing to help.”
That snapped her out of whatever twilight land she’d gone to. “That’s just it. I haven’t agreed to anything. Look, I understand that I can hear you. But I’m just one person, a widow who, quite frankly, isn’t well regarded in this town. Serial killers scare the heck out of me too. So what do you think I can do to find your sister?”
“More than I can,” he shot back, his smile vanishing. “You have a physical presence. You can talk to people and be heard. You can ignite a fire under law enforcement. And you are able to research and hunt down the clues that occasionally flash into my consciousness. Once you and I figure out who this man is, we can have him arrested.”
Still, she considered. Lately, she’d made a career out of avoiding just about everyone in town. For all she knew, they’d laugh at her if she started asking questions about a missing girl.
“How did you die?” she asked, feeling as if she needed to know.
“In Afghanistan,” he said, his voice curt. Clearly, he didn’t like discussing his death. “Like your husband and a lot of others. For me, it was a suicide bomber at a roadside checkpoint.”
A chill snaked over her. This ghost and David had both lost their lives in a similar fashion. It couldn’t be a coincidence, even if she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“I’ll find your husband,” he offered. “And try to bring him to you. If I can’t, I’ll bring back to you exactly what he’d like you to know. But time is of the essence. The longer Dena—my sister—is in that place, the weaker she becomes.”
Again the image. A poor woman, curled up on the cold concrete floor, hoping to ward off blows—or worse. That could be any woman, even Anabel. She had to try to save her. Just like that, she decided.
“If I help you find your sister,” she said, pretending she still didn’t know, “you say you’ll make sure David comes to me.”
“Yes.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “But not just find. Save my sister. And not if, but when.”
“Fine.” She cleared her throat. “I promise you, when I commit to something, I go all out. I will devote every spare second I have—when I’m not working, that is.” These days, unlike the job she’d had as an executive secretary when she was married to David, she worked as a cook in the back of the diner, which suited her perfectly. It was easier spending her time interacting with food rather than people.
He continued watching her, his hazel eyes both intelligent and insolent. “I’ll need your word.”
Of course he did. She decided not to tell him that her word wasn’t worth anything around this town. “Then I give you my word. I will do whatever I’m permitted to do.”
Gliding closer, in that disconcerting way of all ghosts, he held out his hand. It looked remarkably solid. Even though she knew it wasn’t. For a second, she pictured how such sensual fingers would feel on her skin.
Seriously. She gave herself a mental shake. What on earth had gotten into her?
“Tyler Rogers,” he said, the velvet murmur of his voice filling her with longing.
Damn.
“You do know I won’t be able to shake that,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice how breathless she sounded.
For half a second, he appeared abashed. And then he grinned, an irresistible, devastating grin that made her knees go weak and her entire body tingle. “You’re right,” he said, lowering his hand.
“I’ll do some checking,” they both said at the same time. Anabel found herself smiling, something she didn’t do very often. It felt good. And wrong. Again she wondered if she’d finally lost what was left of her mind.
“I’ll make sure no other ghosts bother you,” he told her, apparently not noticing her inner struggle.
As distractions went, his statement was pretty good. Intrigued, she tilted her head. “How will you do that?”
“Simple. I’ll ask my spirit guide to put a circle of protection around you.”
“What?” she started to ask. But he was gone. Just like a candle flame snuffed out by a gust of wind.
Alone again, she sighed. Maybe she’d dreamed all this up. It was entirely possible the eighteen months of celibacy since David’s death had made her come completely unhinged.
Except for one thing. Why would she even think about serial killers and sisters in need of rescue?
Whichever Tyler Rogers turned out to be, a genuine ghost or a figment of her lonely imagination, she’d do what she could to find out information on his sister. Dena, he’d said. Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult to find someone named Dena Rogers in a town the size of Leaning Tree.
That night, when she turned out the light, she went to sleep in blissful silence. No ghostly specters haunted her, not in her house or in her dreams.
* * *
The next morning, she opened her eyes and sat up in bed, feeling completely rested and refreshed. Outside, bright sunshine hinted at the heat to come, but since it was only seven in the morning, she knew it would still be comfortable outside.
In the time since David had died, she’d gradually changed her bedroom, adding little feminine touches here and there. David had hated flowers, though Anabel loved them. A new comforter—floral—and some artwork that she loved had made the room totally hers. She’d told herself she might as well like it, since she’d be spending the rest of her life alone.
Stretching, she thought of her ghostly visitor. Today was her day off. Originally she’d planned