Amanda Stevens - The Abandoned

“As simple as that.”

“Dealing with ghosts is never a simple matter,” he warned. “Rule Number One: hope for the best and prepare for the worst.”

“What’s Rule Number Two?”

He hesitated. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“We?”

“I’m a ghost hunter, you’ve got a ghost. Match made in heaven. Or hell, depending.”

Looking back the next morning, Ree could almost believe the episode in the cemetery had been part of her “Ilsa” dream because the alternative was just too distressing. At some point during the night, she’d gotten out of bed, left her apartment wearing nothing but pajamas and trekked all the way across campus and through the woods where she’d somehow scaled the wall of an abandoned cemetery and tried to seduce a complete stranger. She hated to think what could have happened if anyone but Hayden had been in that graveyard.

But he’d been the perfect gentleman. Not only had he seen her home safely, he’d even provided his cell phone number in case she found herself in another compromising situation. He’d been so kind, in fact, that Ree had felt obligated to return the favor. Well…not obligated really. In truth, she’d wanted to make it easy for him to contact her because he was the first guy she’d felt attracted to in ages.

After he’d dropped her off last night, Ree had spent an unseemly amount of time thinking about him. She was at such a critical stage of her thesis that any spare moment of the day or night should have been devoted to her writing. But no. Even though she hadn’t been the slightest bit sleepy, she’d crawled into bed and lain there wondering how old he was, where he came from, if he was in a relationship.

It was almost inconceivable that she could be so obsessed after everything else that had happened to her. And he was a ghost hunter, of all things. Not in a million years would she have imagined herself attracted to someone so alternative. But maybe that was part of the appeal. He was the complete opposite of her.

Ree was still thinking about him as she got ready for class. She had the television turned down low so it was easy to let her mind wander and her thoughts had meandered off into a rather fascinating direction—her and Hayden cocooned in a misty cemetery. Alone and forgotten as if the world outside those walls had simply evaporated. Talk about interesting subtext.

Then, as she stood stuffing a stack of research notes into her messenger bag, a photograph flashed across the screen and she forgot all about Hayden. Gasping, Ree grabbed the remote to turn up the volume.

Jared Tisdale, the man she’d seen coming out of Dr. Farrante’s office, had been found shot to death in his home early that morning. The police had no suspects, no witnesses and no apparent motive.

No suspects…no motive…

Ree dropped heavily onto the sofa. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she’d overheard Jared Tisdale blackmailing Nicholas Farrante. And now Tisdale was dead.

Don’t jump to conclusions. The man’s death might not have anything to do with that argument. Tisdale had said he owed a lot of money to some very unsavory people. It wasn’t a huge leap to assume his murder was somehow connected to his gambling debts.

Ree was still trying to convince herself none of this was her concern when the phone rang. She jumped in spite of herself. Normally, she was a calm and levelheaded person, but the news of Tisdale’s death had rattled her.

Still in shock, she lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“I hope I’m not calling too early. Or coming across too eager.”

“Who is this?”

A pause. “Hayden.”

“Hayden…” She clutched the phone.

“From last night.” He said something under his breath. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Of course, I remember you.” He’d pretty much occupied every waking moment until news of Tisdale’s murder had plopped her so unceremoniously back into the real world. “I’m sorry. I’m a little distracted at the moment.” Her gaze went back to the television screen. Thankfully, the photograph was gone and the anchor had moved on to another story.

“Is something wrong?”

“You could say that.”

“Anything I can do?”

The genuine concern in his voice made Ree realize how long it had been since she’d had a confidant. Her mother was still trapped in her bitterness and her father was too busy with his new life. Ree wasn’t sure how it had happened, but at some point between college and grad school all her friends had moved on. And at that moment, she’d never felt more alone.

“Ree?”

“Maybe you can help,” she said. “I think I need some legal advice.”

“Okay. But you do understand I’m not allowed to practice law without a license. Any advice I offer will have to be of the unofficial variety.”

“So long as I can still invoke the attorney-client privilege.”

His voice grew sober. “What’s going on?”

Ree suddenly felt as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. Tears burned her eyes, which made her angry with herself. A man had been murdered. He’d probably left loved ones behind. This was no time for self-pity. “I didn’t tell you everything about that conversation I overheard at the hospital.”

“No?”

“Dr. Farrante was being blackmailed by a man named Jared Tisdale.

He threatened to expose a secret that their families have kept hidden for three generations. Whatever it is, it has something to do with Miss Violet and her mother, Ilsa. I just heard on the news that Tisdale was found shot to death in his home this morning. Maybe it’s just some awful coincidence. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with Dr. Farrante. But if I go to the police—”

“ If , Ree?”

She dragged trembling fingers through her hair. “Dr. Farrante will know that I overheard that blackmail scheme. If he killed Tisdale, what’s to stop him from coming after me?”

“If Farrante is involved, going to the police could be your best protection,” Hayden said. “And if you don’t tell them what you know, you’re technically impeding an official investigation. Cops don’t like that.”

“I know, but—”

“For all the inroads in forensic science, the best way to establish a reliable timeline is still finding the person or persons who last saw the victim alive. That could be you, Ree. Not to mention the fact that you can provide a motive.”

“I know all that. I guess I just needed to hear someone spell it out for me.”

“I’ll go with you,” he said. “We’ll call it moral support.”

“You’d do that?” She felt pathetic, even asking.

“Just give me a chance to clear up a few things here. I’ll meet you outside police headquarters in half an hour.…”

But he didn’t show. Ree waited for almost forty-five minutes in front of the building on Lockwood before giving up. Then climbing the south-side stairs, she squared her shoulders and marched inside before she could change her mind. In very short order, she was escorted to a small and rather antiseptic-looking office where she was told to wait for someone named Devlin.

He appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, a tall, stylish man with dark hair and a face so pale and thin, one might even call him gaunt. Strangely, this only enhanced his attractiveness. Ree judged him to be in his early to midthirties, though when he turned his head a certain way and the light hit him just right, he could have been a decade older. His high cheekbones were sharply defined, his lips full and sculpted. When he walked into the room, the air seemed to collapse and Ree struggled to catch her breath. He had an almost palpable charisma, an intensity that was so deeply masculine, she found herself thinking of dark things. Inappropriate things. And that made her think of Hayden and she wished he was there with her.