The choice he’d made meant living—well, existing—with the consequences ever since, both for him and for the people who loved him. He could never go back and change what he’d done.
But that’s what he’d been trying to do, wasn’t it? He’d wanted to erase time, to make his parents be who they’d been before him and before he died.
To make his father be who he was before Dillon died.
He thought back to that day by the car, when Andy got the police to pull Sylvie over. His dad had smiled at her. Really smiled, the way he used to smile. That was what Dillon had wanted: for that smile to come back and erase the grim look that Lucas usually wore.
Sylvie—she was cool. He liked her, and he wished he could have gotten to know her. But making his parents come to Tassamara hadn’t only been about her, and maybe it wasn’t even mostly about her. He’d wanted his dad to be happy; happy the way he had never been since Dillon’s death. He’d wanted his dad to laugh again and he’d thought Sylvie could make him do it.
In the darkness, he closed his eyes as the sadness overwhelmed him.
And then that little voice was back, pushing up from his subconscious.
Maybe his mom would go to jail for killing Chesney and maybe she wouldn’t. He’d bet she had a good reason for doing it. But whether she went to jail or not, if his dad lost Dillon again, this time to a vortex of ghostly energies, he was definitely not going to be happy.
Dillon couldn’t change the fact that he’d killed himself. That was over and done and nothing could make that better. And he couldn’t change what he’d done to Chesney’s spirit. But his gran had escaped from the void. Maybe he could, too.
If he’d destroyed Rose, though, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Did he really want to keep on existing if his actions had ripped her spirit apart? But he hadn’t felt her, not like he’d felt Chesney. Maybe she’d had time to run away.
A whisper of thought told him to stop worrying about Rose and concentrate.
He frowned. His subconscious seemed a little unreasonable: Rose was his best friend, he could worry about her if he wanted to.
This time the whisper was more of a growl.
Concentrate
, the voice ordered him. It was time to think of a way out of this mess.
Slowly he turned, trying to make sense of everything he saw. With his fear suppressed, the tossing felt more like floating and the chaos of swirling lights in the darkness separated into distinct glows. His gran had recognized the lights as people. Could he do the same?
Closest to him was a pillar of white. Seeing it made him feel better, safer, as if he wasn’t alone in the darkness. He drifted a little closer to it and basked in its warmth. He had no idea who it might be, but he liked it.
Other lights were sprinkled around him; yellows, greens, a pale blue, a deep royal blue. And in the distance, far off, a sparkling blue iridescence. It called to him like sunlight on a stormy day, like firelight on a dark night. Without thinking, he started pushing himself against the waves, trying to reach it. And then he froze, stopping himself and hurriedly retreating back to the white light.
That blue had to be Akira. He understood why his gran had wanted to grab her aura and hang on to it. It had a kind of solidity about it, as if it might be a life raft instead of a star. But tugging at Akira’s aura had killed her. He wasn’t going to do that again. No, he’d think of something else.
But what?
*****
Ty and Jeremy had brought Joshua. Sylvie felt tears spring to her eyes at the sight of the toddler leaning against Ty’s leg in the waiting room, babbling happily as his father tried to read him a book. She blinked them back furiously.
With Jeremy on one side and the lawyer sent by Max Latimer on the other, her interrogation—if it could even be called that—had been swift and painless. Rachel’s disappearance, the circumstances of how she’d been at a suspected drug trafficker’s house, her lack of knowledge of Chesney’s business—the only moments they’d glossed over were the actual shootings.
Had Chesney threatened her? Yes, she’d answered truthfully, he’d said that they needed to make her death look like an accident and that he would destroy her. Had she believed her life to be in danger? Yes. She didn’t clarify the timeline or the source and the police didn’t ask. And her lawyers refused to let her respond to some questions, so she told no lies. Her reasons for shooting Chesney and whether she’d considered alternatives stayed off the record.
The sheriff politely requested that she stay in Florida while the investigation continued, but with that he’d let them go.
Behind her, Jeremy and William chatted.
“How do you like diminished capacity from lack of sleep?”
“Not as good as post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“We’d need a documented history for that.”
“No, she was attacked by a serial killer last week. She’s definitely still in the window of trauma response.”
“Nice.”
Sylvie glanced over her shoulder at them. “You’re planning a defense. Am I going to need one?”
Jeremy shrugged, but William shook his head and said, sounding almost regretful, “Not a chance. You might get charged, but we’d assert immunity pre-trial based on Stand Your Grand, and we’ll get it.”
“You seem pretty confident.”
“A decade ago, when Max hired me to defend this case, it would have been different. You’d still have a damn good chance of getting off with an eyewitness willing to testify that they were planning to kill you. But the way the law currently stands, you won’t go to trial.”
“You—what? A decade ago?” Jeremy blinked in surprise, shoving his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket.
Ty shook his head as he stood, smiling in wry greeting. “Don’t ask. Sylvie’s told me about this place.”
“Ty,” Sylvie started before stopping. How could she ever possibly apologize enough? She’d killed their employer. The reputation of Ty’s company, so carefully nurtured, would be destroyed. Every one of his employees would be out of work. And at Christmas. She’d ruined so much.
“Cut it out, Syl,” Ty said mildly. He scooped up Joshua who leaned toward Sylvie with a joyful yelp. “You’re doing that black hole thing, I can see it. Planning for the worst is great, but expecting the worst is a waste of time. Besides, all I care about is that you’re okay.”
This time a tear overflowed. Sylvie brushed it away, embarrassed, and reached for Joshua. “Shooting the client isn’t going to be good for business.”
“Working for a drug cartel? Also not good for business. At least not the kind of business I care to have.” Ty released the toddler who pressed both hands against the side of Sylvie’s face and gave her a sloppy kiss as Ty pointed to a duffel bag on the ground. “When we got to your boyfriend’s plane, your luggage was waiting. I guess he sent someone to your hotel in DC and checked you out. You want to change before we get out of here?”
Sylvie’s laugh was still slightly teary. She looked down at the blue scrubs she was wearing. She hadn’t minded when the police took her dress as evidence and let her clean up, but it would be a relief to wear her own clothes again.
Joshua was talking to her, long sentences of toddler babble that made no sense at all. She took a deep breath before dropping a return kiss on his cheek and then asking Ty, “Joshua?”
“No sitter. And we didn’t know how long we’d be here. Rachel?”
“With Max Latimer.”
“Let’s go.”
Sylvie managed a smile as Ty tried to disentangle her from the complaining toddler but Ty saw something in her face.
“Problem?” he asked.
Should she tell him about the ghosts?
“Nope, not at all,” she answered, scooping up her bag. “I’ll just change.”
*****
“Christmas in Florida is strange,” said Jeremy. “Do they usually throw midwinter street parties?”
They were walking down Millard Street from the sheriff’s office. The temperate night air smelled of Florida, humid and fragrant with a strong undertone of moldy swamp, and in striking contrast to the twinkling holiday lights and Christmas decorations. But Sylvie didn’t think the people gathered on the street and sidewalks were celebrating. Excitement, curiosity, uncertainty, doubt—the flavor of the crowd was mixed, but she knew it wasn’t a party.
She glanced around, looking for faces she recognized, pausing on the people with the strongest emotions. A young Asian woman had her arms crossed across her chest, almost hugging herself, the strength of her worry not showing on her calm face. Another woman on the other side of the street was facing away from Sylvie. From the back and in the dark, Sylvie could see only that she had dark hair but her emotions were a mix of joy and terror. As Sylvie walked by the door to the restaurant, still searching the crowd, she tasted sheer annoyance from someone inside.
Finally she spotted Lucas. She walked straight into his arms, lifted her lips for his kiss, and let herself get lost for one long glorious moment in the touch, taste and feel of him.
Then she pulled back and said, “What the hell is going on?”
He smiled down at her, his eyes even bluer than usual under the glow from the street lamp and the sparkle of the holiday lights. “The fire marshal kicked everyone out of Maggie’s place while he inspects the electricity.” He slid his arm around her, nodded at the two men, smiled at Joshua, and turned his attention back to the door of the restaurant.
“Electric problems?” Jeremy asked, looking toward the restaurant.
“Where’s Rachel?” Despite the boy in his arms, Ty stayed focused on the job.
Without looking, Lucas nodded toward the sidewalk on the other side of the street, safely away from the crowd. Sylvie glanced that way and then frowned in recognition at the sight of the scared but happy dark-haired woman. “Is that—” she started.
“She’s with her mother,” Lucas confirmed.
“Her mother?” Ty and Sylvie said the words almost simultaneously.
“I had her sent for as soon as I heard the news. She got here about twenty minutes ago.” Sylvie could tell from his distracted tone that Lucas was still mostly focused on what was happening inside the restaurant.
“Why?” Ty demanded.
“Pre-emptive strike,” Lucas answered absently. And then he must have felt Ty’s response, because he finally turned his attention back to them.
“Against who?” Ty must have tightened his grip on Joshua, because the little boy started to fuss.
“Not you.” Lucas put a hand out and patted Joshua gently on the back, drawing his attention. “Child protective services here in Florida would have Rachel in foster care faster than you could blink if they knew her custodial parent was dead. The same should be true in DC. Unless you want her in state care until an executor is found and Chesney’s estate is settled, she needed an emergency guardian.”
“I could have—” Ty started.
“With Sylvie’s involvement in her father’s death?” Lucas interrupted him. “Under the circumstances, you wouldn’t get temporary custody.”
“The authorities had no reason to know that Rachel needed anyone to have custody.” Ty’s voice got quieter.
Jeremy must have recognized the danger signs, because he reached for Joshua, firmly taking the boy from his husband’s grasp, and saying, “Come on, Joshua, let’s go look at the pretty lights.”
“Raymond Chesney’s death is under investigation and Sylvie’s future is at stake. We are not covering up Rachel’s unaccompanied presence here.” Lucas’s voice also got quieter, but gentler as well.
“Stop it,” Sylvie snapped at both of them. If they kept this up, in two minutes one of them would haul off and punch the other. “Go meet Rachel’s mom,” she ordered Ty. “Reassure yourself that Rachel will be safe with her. And be nice—she loves her daughter but she’s scared.”
Ty scowled at her and she narrowed her eyes at him and added, “She’s Rachel’s mother.”
With only a minor grumble but a strong feeling of annoyance, Ty turned and headed across the street.
“As for you . . .” Sylvie punched Lucas lightly on the arm. “Efficiency is nice. I appreciated the clothes. But Rachel was my problem to worry about. Don’t be so damn managing.”
Lucas’s smile was crooked. “Rachel’s situation was a very small problem. We have bigger issues.”
“The police?”
Sylvie’s heart sank. She’d known that was all too easy.
“No.” Lucas shook his head quickly.
‘Dillon.’
‘What about him?’
Sylvie responded wordlessly.
‘He’s in trouble.’
He nodded toward the worried woman Sylvie had noticed earlier.
‘Akira can explain.’
Taking her hand, Lucas tugged her toward the woman. As they got closer, Sylvie recognized the man standing with her as Zane, Lucas’s younger brother, all grown-up now. She couldn’t help a quiet hum of appreciation.
‘Hey,’
Lucas protested, slightly indignant but also amused.
‘He looks just like you,’
she told him, an unrepentant grin on her lips, and then she sobered as Lucas introduced her to Akira. They exchanged greetings and then Sylvie turned to Akira and asked, “What’s going on?”
“I wish I could see better.” Akira’s eyes were back on the restaurant storefront, almost as if she hadn’t heard the question. And then she said, softly, “I can’t be sure.”
“About what?” asked Sylvie, confused.
“A ghost has taken over the restaurant,” Zane answered.
Sylvie shook her head. She didn’t understand. Why was it a problem for Dillon to be in the restaurant? Or was Chesney making trouble still?
“As I understand it,” Lucas said, picking his words carefully and glancing at Zane and Akira for confirmation, “a ghost can get so upset that it loses control and becomes sort of a vengeful spirit.”
“Like on
Supernatural
?” Sylvie asked, feeling doubt rising within her.
“Like on what?” Lucas responded.
“The television show?”
He shook his head. “Never heard of it.”
“Ah. Well.” Sylvie shrugged. Somehow she didn’t think that she and Lucas would be curling up together to the adventures of the Winchester brothers any time soon. “Go on.”
Zane took over. “When our mom died, she became a ghost, too. But she couldn’t communicate and her ghostly energy was . . . dangerous.” He stopped.