That was a short window of time for someone to have carried a dead body off the street, positioned it grotesquely and gotten away without being seen. Someone had to have noticed something. Dylan made a mental note to check with the directors of the city’s night tours to find out which one had last been by there and when.
The sound of a scream diverted his attention, and he turned just in time to see Alexandra burst through the double doors to the autopsy room. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide and crazed as she stumbled toward him. His hands reached out to steady her as she fell against him, her fingers clasping his arms with an iron grip. Her hair whipped around her shoulders as she glanced frantically behind her.
What the? Was she being chased?
“Dylan!” she cried, sagging against him. “Oh, thank heaven!”
“What happened?”
She squeezed his middle, but he was too preoccupied with figuring out what the hell was going on to respond. His protective instincts kicked into gear and he tried pushing her away and behind him, but she was stuck to him like a leech.
Watkins hurried to the doors, opened them and glanced both ways down the hallway. The other man’s shoulders relaxed as he turned around, his expression just as puzzled as Dylan’s probably was.
“I don’t see anyone,” Watkins said.
The tension began to seep from Dylan’s muscles. “Sorry. She’s with me.”
Pushing herself away, Alexandra closed her eyes and shook her head, gesturing wildly. She danced around in the same spot, wiggling her fingers in that way little girls did when they were grossed out or had to pee. “No. No, you can’t see them. One guy…his face is all…” she shuddered as she waved a hand in front of her face. “Mangled. He’s dead. They’re all dead. They all want…” She opened her eyes and looked at him. She’d stopped trembling. “Dylan, can we please leave?”
Her nose scrunched. The odor in the room was hard for most to stomach. Her pallor turned an unnatural gray. She looked like she was about to toss some cookies.
“Mangled?” Watkins repeated. He thumbed over his shoulder and started walking toward a second examining table, where a body was covered with a light blue sheet. “Are you here for this guy too?”
Watkins ripped back the sheet, and Dylan felt his stomach lurch. A man—or at least, he assumed it was a man by the width of those broad shoulders—looked like he’d been in one hell of a fight, eyes swollen and bloody, nose either missing or sunk in, and a deep gash in—
Dylan had to look away.
“This guy was in a boating accident. Not a homicide.” Watkins threw the sheet back over the poor schmuck’s face, but it was too late.
Alexandra made a squeaking sound deep in her throat and sagged against him. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her body went suddenly limp.
He caught her seconds before she would have hit the ground.
***
“Alexandra? Alexandra, honey, are you okay?”
The echo of a woman’s voice and a warm, gentle touch on her cheek teased at the edges of Alexandra’s consciousness like an annoying alarm radio set on low. She stretched out to hit the snooze button, wanting nothing more than to snuggle deeper into the darkness, but her fingers touched nothing but air.
“Alexandra, it’s me. I’m here.”
She knew that voice. Blinking her eyes open, she saw Rebecca Collins leaning over her. She sucked in a deep breath and reached out to hug Dylan’s mother. The older woman engulfed her in return, rubbing her back and murmuring, “There. You’re all right. You just had a bit of a scare.”
The fog cleared and Alexandra remembered. The spirits harassing her for help, demanding attention, and Mr. Hamburger Face freaking her the heck out by physically shoving her against the wall when she asked him to leave her alone. He hadn’t realized he was dead, and had gotten violent when she’d tried to coax that truth into him. And then the old woman had appeared behind them all, exuding malice and negativity as thick as cigarette smoke. It was almost as if the woman was controlling the dead people, commanding them to overwhelm Alexandra. Well, it had worked! Alexandra had lost it.
She’d never encountered anything like that old woman before.
She’d never encountered a lot of the things she’d experienced in that hospital. Only old, experienced ghosts could move or touch things with force. Hamburger Face hadn’t even been dead twenty-four hours, but he’d shoved her against a wall.
How?
Pulling back now, she looked around. The cold, sterile medical room was gone. Dylan was gone. The familiar sight of Alexandra’s bedroom surrounded them.
Her muscles sank with relief.
“I’m dreaming.” She lifted a hand to touch her forehead. “This isn’t real. That explains why everything’s been so screwy.”
She could have only been dreaming that she’d traveled to Charleston and found Dylan. Had she found him? She was so disoriented. She had no idea. She could have been having a serious nightmare—minus the erotic bits at the beginning with Mr. Delicious. Those parts of the dream, if she’d been dreaming, she hadn’t minded at all.
“Honey, I need you to listen to me.” Rebecca’s hands felt solid as they cupped Alexandra’s face, confusing her even more. Rebecca hadn’t been dead long enough to master the skill of touch. “We don’t have much time.”
“Where have you been? I think I found your son.” Yes, she knew she had. It was getting easier to recognize this delusion for what it was. The giant stuffed red monkey sitting on her nightstand was a dead giveaway. She didn’t own any such novelty, as cute as it was. And her walls weren’t blue either.
If this was a dream, then…
Alexandra grasped Rebecca’s arm, something she’d only be able to do in a dream state. “Woman, where the heck have you been? I’ve been freaking worried about you!”
“I know, honey. I’m sorry.” Rebecca’s face tightened. “I need you to do something for me. Take Dylan and leave this place. Alexandra, you’re in danger. You’re both in danger.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in harm’s way. I didn’t realize he knew. I didn’t know he would recognize you.”
“Who knew? Knew what? What are you—?”
A gasp ripped from her lungs as her eyes flew open again, blurring into focus on Dylan’s chiseled features so close to her own. A man stood over his shoulder, peering down at her with a mixture of concern and curiosity. The coroner, or whoever he was.
“Alexandra? Are you all right?” Dylan’s softly spoken question calmed the panic clawing at her chest at the realization of where she was. Her fingers touched cold metal. Oh. My. Word. Was she on a dissecting table? She tried to push up, but he stilled her.
“Easy.” He pushed her back. “Trust me when I say you’d rather be lying on this table than the floor.”
Her head spun. “Dylan?” She blinked away the haze and struggled again to sit up.
The smell of ammonia was strong, heightening her senses, bringing her closer to awareness. Dylan shifted one arm away from her and passed a pungent-smelling cloth to the man hovering around them. Sweet heavens. She’d passed out. Oh, look, a real mangled face, and wham, she’d been down faster than Marie Osmond that time on Dancing with the Stars.
How embarrassing.
“I’m sorry.” She swallowed and moved to