“He can’t just possess a body and expect to live a normal, human life in that body,” Charlie said, just to clarify things for Michael—and herself. “Right?”
“Spirits do possess bodies occasionally,” Tam replied. “They sometimes even manage to stay in them for considerable periods of time, by which I mean a few days, a few weeks. Usually the body must be empty, which means the spirit must enter at precisely the moment of the previous soul’s exit and the body’s death, for that to be possible.”
“So all I have to do is find a guy who’s just died and I’m golden?” Michael looked at Tam with sudden interest.
“Hardly,” Tam said. “It’s way more complicated than that. Even the mechanics of it are complicated: the body has to be capable of living, for one thing, which if the person just died, the body probably isn’t. A limited number of the possessed walk among us, indistinguishable from the living, at any given time. They’re known as revenants. But that’s very rare, and is never permanent. Revenants are considered monsters, and the price they eventually pay for their temerity in trying to cheat death is high.” She gave Michael a warning look. “Remember that: there is always a price.”
Charlie put the question to Tam that she knew was tearing at Michael. “Is there any way you can think of for him to get any semblance of a human life back?”
“No,” Tam said. “There isn’t. I thought I made that clear last night. He can stay as he is—a spirit walking the earth plane—for as long as he’s able to hang on here, possibly for as long as eternity, although given his proclivity for getting himself into trouble I doubt that’ll happen. Or he can go ahead and give in to the inevitable and move on to whatever awaits him in the Beyond.”
Michael grimaced. “Now, there’s a real win-win situation if I ever heard one.”
“He was being terminated.” Charlie had given up on even trying to drink her coffee. “I don’t think moving on to the Beyond is an option for him.”
Tam shrugged. “The executeurs can’t be everywhere. If he manages to escape their notice, he might continue to exist in the Beyond for a considerable time. Who knows? I can’t say for sure. No one can.”
“Great,” Michael muttered.
“Spirit, listen to me,” Tam ordered, and he stopped pacing to look at her, curling his fingers around the top rung on the back of one of the two extra chairs at the table and looking so alive that if Charlie hadn’t known for sure that he was dead she wouldn’t have believed it. Until he flickered again, that is: in and out, quick as a blink, like a failing lightbulb. “Understand that there are consequences to everything you do. You’re like a cat with nine lives. I don’t know how many you’ve used up already. I don’t know how many you have left. But I do know this: on the day that you run out of them, there is nothing that I or anyone else can do to save you. You’ll go into the Beyond, and you’ll face whatever awaits you there. So if you want to stay earthbound, you need to be careful. For starters, no more possessing bodies.”
“Got that?” Charlie chimed in, just to be clear. His eyes, very blue and not nearly as troubled as they should have been under the circumstances, met hers, and Charlie frowned at him while Tam added direly, “Unless you want to find yourself back in the Dark Place.”
Charlie was getting ready to pile on more warnings, but the ringing of her cell phone interrupted.
It was lying on the table beside her plate because she’d been waiting for this call. As part of her summation of last night’s happenings, she’d told Tam about Giselle Kaminsky and asked if she would help. Tam had agreed—reluctantly, because she had long made it a rule to focus her abilities only on the light. Shuddering away from Charlie’s choice of profession, she had once explained it to her this way: touching on something as dark as murder felt like it left the psychic equivalent of a bloodstain on her soul.
Once Tam had agreed, Charlie had texted Tony, asking him to run it by Lena. This should be his reply.
“It’s Tony,” Charlie announced as she verified that with a glance at the incoming number, then picked up the phone and said hello. Their conversation was brief. As noisy as the dining room was, she didn’t think there was any way Tony’s side of the call could have been overheard by the other two, so when she disconnected she looked at Tam and repeated the gist of it. “He said Kaminsky—Lena—would welcome your help. She has Giselle’s things up in her room.” Tam had told her that it would make it easier if she had something that belonged to Giselle to concentrate on. “Tony’s there with her now, if we want to go on up.”
Tam nodded, and Charlie signaled for the check. The waiter, a good-looking, thirtyish guy whose name tag read, Hi, my name is Bob, came over with it, asking, “Can I get you ladies anything else?”
While Charlie was shaking her head no, Tam, who was infinitely more with it than Charlie this morning, grabbed the check and signed the room charge. With a reproving look for Tam, Charlie counted out the cash needed to cover the bill and tucked it into her friend’s purse, then looked up to find that the waiter’s gaze had parked itself admiringly on Tam’s cleavage.
“Nice necklace. Are you a Scorpio?” Bob asked as Charlie plopped her purse on the table with a thump and he tore his eyes away to discover both Charlie and Tam frowning at him. Michael was looking at him, too, with the kind of level look men give each other, but of course he couldn’t see that. Charlie had to give Bob credit: the bit about the necklace was a pretty good save.
Tam didn’t seem at all perturbed. Rising, she met his eyes. “No, but you are,” she told him. “You’re also single, from—either Kansas or Kentucky, a state that starts with a K, I’m leaning toward Kansas—and you own a big blue motorcycle, which is waiting for you in the parking lot right now. With an expired tag.”
Bob’s mouth fell open. Taking a stumbling step back, he blinked at her, suddenly google-eyed. “How—how did you know that?”
Tam smiled seraphically at him. “I’m psychic. I know everything about you,” she cooed, and swept from the restaurant with Charlie and Michael trailing in her wake. Charlie could feel the waiter’s shocked gaze on them all the way out the door.
“Bet that’s the last time he lets his eyes wander for a while,” Michael murmured to Charlie with a chuckle.
“I told you she was good.”
“Spirit, give us a minute,” Tam imperiously told Michael as she paused in the opulent hallway to let Charlie catch up.
“Yes, ma’am.” There might have been a touch of irony in his voice, but he obediently dropped back, following at enough of a distance to allow them to talk privately as they headed past the in-house theater and gift shops then threaded their way through the busy lobby toward the elevators.
“I can see what you see in him,” Tam said, low-voiced. “He’s absolutely gorgeous. When my spell restored him and he was all of a sudden standing there naked in my bathtub—well, I have to admit my eyes popped. He’s built. And hung. A total stud-muffin if I ever saw one.”
Charlie tried not to sound defensive. “That is not what I see in him.”
Tam gave her a skeptical look. “Cherie, I’m not blind. I see the way you look at him. I’ve seen the way you two are together. Muy caliente.”
Okay, maybe she did sound defensive. She couldn’t help it. “So I like him. So sue me.”
“Like?” Tam practically snickered. “That’s a new word for it. I’d ask if you’ve managed to have sex with him yet, but the answer’s obvious. Was it before he died or have you been practicing up on your astral projection?”
“I’m not that good at astral projection, believe me,” Charlie said defensively. Her sex life—especially her sex life with Michael—wasn’t up for discussion. Not even with Tam.
“You’ve got to practice to get good. Like with Kegel exercises. Anytime you get a few minutes, close your eyes, clear your mind, and focus on forcing your vibrations higher. Right now, as close as you apparently still are to the Beyond, you should have an easier time pushing through. Do it while you still can, and have sex
with him until your tongue is hanging and get him out of your system. Then you can let him go poof with no regrets.”
“I’m not going to practice up on astral projection just so I can have sex with him,” Charlie said firmly.
“Your call.” Tam shrugged. “Probably for the best. But if he has a hot ghost friend—one who’s not a serial killer—send him my way. For a guy who looks like that, I’ll astral project out the yahoo.”
“I told you before, he’s not a serial killer.” Honesty compelled Charlie to add, “I’m almost certain.”
“You told me,” Tam agreed with just a hint of derision. “It’s the almost that has me worried.”
“There’s evidence that he’s innocent.” Charlie touched Michael’s watch as she spoke: really, it, plus his word and her gut feeling, was all there was, but she wasn’t going to tell Tam that. “I’m having the DNA test results that were admitted as evidence in his trial rechecked as we speak. The lab should be calling me any day now. There’s something wrong somewhere, I know it.”
“Mm-hmm.” Tam sounded skeptical. “Just keep in mind that the legal system may sometimes be wrong, but the universe never is. He wound up in The Dark Place for a reason. He was being terminated for a reason. And the reason is, he’s done something bad, cherie. Really bad. Time to wake up and smell the coffee. He’s smokin’ hot, no doubt about it, but you need to remember what they say about judging a book by its cover: don’t.”
“I’m not—” Charlie began, only to break off as they reached the elevator banks and Michael caught up. She shot a look at him. He was still flickering, but maybe a little less frequently and he was maybe a little less see-through each time he came back.
“I’m just wondering what your friend did to deserve being sent to the Dark Place.” Tam addressed the remark to Charlie so as not to look insane for talking to what, to the small crowd milling around them waiting for the elevators, would look like the empty space beside her. A flicker of Tam’s eyes in his direction, however, made it clear that the remark was directed at Michael. Charlie didn’t even know why she was surprised: a shrinking violet Tam wasn’t. If she wanted to know something, she was going to ask.
“No clue,” Charlie responded.
“I think that was meant for me.” Michael smiled at Tam. It was his patented charming smile, but there was a hint of something in his face that made Charlie remember the hard-eyed convict she had first met. “You wondering if I’m a stone-cold killer? Is that it? Why don’t you make like a psychic and find out for yourself?”
“I would, but I can’t read the dead like I can the living,” Tam said to Charlie. “I can only go by what they tell me when they show up.”
“Well, now, ain’t that convenient,” Michael drawled. “For a minute there, I was shaking in my boots at the thought that you knew all my secrets.”
“If you’re that worried, they must be terrible secrets,” Tam retorted.
“Maybe.” Michael smiled at her again.
“Would you two stop?” Charlie asked him in irritation, forgetting that to any of the roughly two dozen people waiting for the elevators who happened to be paying attention she was talking to the empty space and probably looking nuts because of it. Fortunately the elevator they were waiting for arrived just then, serving, she hoped, as a distraction. As they filed on, she said in a quiet, excusing aside to Tam that she was fairly certain Michael couldn’t overhear, “He has a tendency to play into what people think of him. When you act like you think he’s a bad guy, he’ll do his best to behave like one.”
Tam, who was behind her, leaned forward to say in her ear, “What makes you so sure he’s not one?”
Charlie almost said I just am, but that sounded so embarrassingly juvenile that she stopped herself before the words could get out. Besides, obviously Michael had done something to wind up in Spookville, and the question of just exactly what that was was something that she meant to address. With him, in private. When she got the chance. Which was not now.
Thus she maintained a dignified silence until they reached the sixteenth floor, and then spent the few moments until they got to Lena’s room giving Tam thumbnail background sketches of the Special Agents she was about to meet.
Tony answered her knock. In a navy suit with a white shirt and blue tie, he was his usual tall, dark, and handsome self. His smile as he greeted her was warmly intimate. Charlie couldn’t help it: at the sight of him, the memory of how she’d melted under his hands last night came flooding back. She felt instantly, ridiculously self-conscious. Reminding herself that all he remembered was a relatively chaste good-night kiss didn’t help.
If they’d been alone, she would have shot Michael a dirty look for so thoroughly muddying up her relationship with Tony.
“Hi,” Tony said. Then, “Come on in.”
Beyond Tony, she saw that Lena was perched on the edge of the armchair (the room was identical to Charlie’s). Buzz stood beside her in front of the window. The curtains were open, and the bright sunlight spilling into the room made a stark contrast to the tension Charlie felt the instant she stepped over the threshold.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Tam, this is Special Agent Tony Bartoli. Tony, this is Tamsyn Green,” Charlie said as Tony closed the door behind them. After Tam and Tony shook hands, Charlie performed the rest of the introductions. At the sight of Tam, the expression on Tony’s face—a touch of surprise, coupled with sheer masculine appreciation for a woman so dazzlingly glamorous—was no more or less than what Charlie had expected: men always had that reaction to Tam. Buzz, too, was transparently impressed. Lena, on the other hand, looked Tam over with suspicion.
“I understand that you’re a psychic. Can you tell me where my sister is?” Lena asked abruptly as she and Tam finished shaking hands. She looked like she had barely slept: there were dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and slicked straight back from her face. If she wore any makeup beyond a smear of pink lipstick Charlie couldn’t tell. She was on her feet now, and while she was fully dressed in a knee-length navy skirt and a grass green tee, her feet were bare, which made her look surprisingly small and vulnerable. Her mouth was tight, but there was so much pain in her eyes that it robbed her tone of any offensiveness.
Tam shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that. I get—impressions. Scraps of thoughts and feelings. Fragments of knowledge. Pictures of objects. Snapshots from a life. That kind of thing. I’m not going to be able to give you an address.” She glanced around the room, and Charlie followed her gaze: the bed was unmade and the closet door was open, revealing two small suitcases and a few garments on hangers. The remains of a light, mostly untouched room service breakfast took up most of the table beside the chair. The faint smell of coffee from the untouched cup on the tray hung in the air. “If you could give me something of your sister’s to hold, I’ll see what I can do.”
Lena didn’t quite roll her eyes, but her expression made her skepticism obvious. Charlie’s nerves tightened: she knew Lena, and she also knew that Tam was unlikely to react well to Lena’s particular brand of disbelief.
To Tony, Lena said, “I don’t have time for this.” She looked at Tam, then at Charlie. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t.” Her gaze swung back to Tony. She was talking a little bit too fast, clasping her hands together hard as she spoke. “I’ve been going over the hotel security tapes again and there’s a guy who might have followed her out the front door. We need to try to identify him. And—”
“I want to give Ms. Green a chance, Kaminsky,” Tony interrupted. His tone, his expression, everything about him was steadying. Charlie thought, This is a man a woman could depend on, then tucked the thought away to be examined later. “I think it’s a shot worth taking,” he said.
“She’s the real thing,” Charlie told Lena earnestly. “I promise.”
“It can’t hurt,” Buzz chimed in. “Believe me, I want to find Giselle, too.”
Lena’s gaze fastened on him like a hawk
sighting prey.
“This might be a good time to trot out that party trick you used downstairs,” Michael said to Tam, who was starting to look affronted. He was still flickering, but the flickers were more widely spaced, as if they were slowing down. Charlie was really starting to feel confident that he was going to make it through. “Kaminsky’s a hard-ass, but she’s suffering here.”
Tam frowned at him. Her lips compressed. She gave a not-quite-nod which was directed at Michael. Then she looked at Lena, and her expression changed.
“You grew up in a small house in California.” Tam spoke just as Lena, her attention still all on Buzz, opened her mouth, presumably to lambast him. “I see a red tile roof, Spanish tile. A white house. I see a woman who looks like you—Libby? Libby? Yes, Libby—backing out of the driveway in a tan car. The car is loaded with luggage—some is strapped to the roof—and there are two girls in the car, young girls, young teenagers, I can’t be sure of the precise ages. The one in the front seat has tears streaming down her face. She is looking back at the house, at the man standing on the front stoop watching the car leave. He is balding, a little tummy on him.” Tam made a paunch motion in front of her own stomach. “Paul. His name is Paul.” Libby is saying to the weeping girl, “Stop sniveling, Gigi. You’re not going to change my mind. The girl in the backseat is not crying. She’s a little younger, and she’s looking away from the man, from the house. Her expression is set. On her lap is a dog, a small golden dog with long floppy ears, a spaniel of some sort, I think. The name I’m getting is Jiff. Or Jin. A short J word. The girl’s arms are wrapped tight around the dog. The girl is—”
“All right, stop.” Lena’s voice sounded strangled. Her widened eyes were fixed on Tam. She sucked in a shuddering breath. “The girl was me. The day you’re describing is the day my family broke up and my mother started driving us toward the East Coast. My sister, Giselle, was in the front seat. She always hated being called Gigi, but my mother called her that anyway. And the dog was a cocker spaniel named Jip.”
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