Joanna Wayne - The Amulet

“Is this the original?”

“Yes.” The word was barely a whisper. His face was so close. She couldn’t fight this. The attraction was too unexpected and far too overpowering. “It was found and returned to us.”

“It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

And then he kissed her. The world began to spin as if she were on a mad carousel. She kissed him back, over and over until every part of her was lost in the passion and need.

A siren sounded in the distance. He pulled away. “I have to go. Tomorrow night in the ballroom. Same time?”

She nodded. His hand trailed her arm one last time, as if he hated to leave her.

She wanted to see him tomorrow night, and the night after, and every night for as long as she could.

But how long would he stay around once he knew the truth about her?

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Joanna Wayne lives with her husband just a few miles from steamy, exciting New Orleans, but her home is in the perfect writer’s hideaway. A lazy bayou, complete with graceful herons, colorful wood ducks and an occasional alligator, winds just below her back garden. When not creating tales of spine-tingling suspense and heart-warming romance, she enjoys reading, traveling, playing golf and spending time with family and friends.

Joanna believes that one of the special joys of writing is knowing that her stories have brought enjoyment to or somehow touched the lives of her readers. You can write Joanna at P.O. Box 2851, Harvey, LA 70059-2851.

Katrina O’Malley—She has one thing on her mind until she meets the handsome detective who teaches her what love is all about.

Deputy Bart Finnegan—He’s no longer officially on the murder case, but he’s got too much at stake to give it up.

Deputy Carrie Fransen—After her partner gets shot, she’s spooked over the ghostly happenings that no one can explain.

Deputy Dick McFarland—He’s your typical, arrogant, controlling deputy—and Carrie’s new partner.

Maisie Henderson—She runs a small café and knows a lot about everybody.

Tom Henderson—What he’s seen in the mountains may have blown his mind forever.

Owen Billings—He’s very protective of his troubled wife.

Selma Billings—She’s depressed over her miscarriage—and suspected of having a ghostly experience of her own.

Jeff Matthews—He’s a travel photographer whose pictures tell a frightening story.

Harlan Grant—He’s done time for a sex-related crime, but is he guilty now?

Marjorie Lipscomb—A renowned psychologist who had an eerie and mysterious experience while staying at the Fernhaven Hotel.

Elora Nicholas—The victim who was raped and killed the night Bart Finnegan was shot.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Visibility was next to zero in the thick fog, and the roads were wet and icy from the light sleet that had started falling about ten minutes earlier. It was the kind of night a man should be sitting in front of the fire, cuddled up with some sweet young thing and sipping wine. It was not a night for driving deadly mountain roads.

The going was slow, and the steep, winding road seemed to go on forever before Bart Finnegan finally caught a glimpse of the lights from the Fernhaven Hotel. The place seemed to erupt from the mountain and soar to the sky. And somewhere inside the vast, castlelike structure, a man was looking for his wife and afraid she’d met with foul play.

Hotel security had taken him seriously enough they’d called the sheriff’s department. Bart had heard the call when it came through and volunteered to investigate even though he was already off duty.

He made the sharp curve to the right. The impressive hotel was in full sight now. Shrouded in the mist, it looked like something straight from a horror novel. He lost sight of the hotel again as he wound through the expansive grounds.

He knew there were secluded guest cabins out there somewhere, but he couldn’t see them in the dark. He rounded another sharp curve and something moved into the beam of his headlights before disappearing. Probably an animal of some kind, but instinctively, his hands tightened on the wheel and he pulled to the shoulder.

He didn’t see anything in the glow of the flashing red and blue lights, so he lowered his window and aimed his high-powered flashlight into the wooded area. No sign of movement, but still he climbed out of the car for a better look. And that’s when he spotted what looked to be two people darting from one tree to another.

Adrenaline hit and he reached back in the car to grab the loud speaker as he palmed his weapon.

“Police. Identify yourself and your business on the property.”

The response was a bullet that ricocheted off the front fender of his squad car. Damn. He had a nut on his hands. Bart aimed his gun, but didn’t fire. A reckless shot wouldn’t do anything but antagonize the shooter, and if the second figure happened to be the missing woman, it might put her in more danger.

Taking cover behind the car, he scanned the area with the flashlight once again. When he didn’t see movement, he turned it off, knowing it would make him a target when he moved from behind the vehicle.

He took off in the direction the figures had disappeared, using the light from the police flashers to guide him. The land was rocky, wet and icy in spots, making maneuvering difficult. He traveled a few yards, then leaned against a tree and listened for a rustle of grass, the dry crushing of leaves beneath a boot, the sound of breathing, anything. And then as if she knew he was seeking a sign, the woman screamed.

Bart moved toward the sound, though he’d reached the outer edges of the flashers’ illumination and was moving in almost total darkness. He didn’t know this particular area, but he knew the dangers of the Cascades. They were riddled with drop-offs. One wrong step and a man—or woman—could wind up at the bottom of a cliff with a crushed skull.

Bart stopped again, took a deep breath and made a quick decision, hopefully the right one.

“We have you surrounded,” he called from his spot behind the thick, protective trunk of a towering tree. “Give the woman up before the shooting starts and this will go a lot easier on you.”

There was no answer, but Bart heard noises coming from his right. From the sound, he’d guess the man was dragging the victim along. The decline grew steeper, making footing even more treacherous on the icy ground. His foot slipped on a rock, and he had to grab a low-hanging branch to keep from falling. The branch snapped and crashed to the ground, telegraphing his position.