“What?” Terry demanded.
“It’s Jillian! It has to be Jillian Kendall. Don’t you see her? She’s right there, next to Daniel and Cassandra.”
“She’s right,” Diego said. “They’re all here, and they’ll never let you leave.”
That was when Gwen made her mistake. She turned to look. And Diego was just close enough. He didn’t dare fire, for fear of hitting Scarlet. Instead he threw himself across the two feet between them and brought Gwen down to the ground—and Scarlet, too.
“The gun!” Terry shouted to Gwen.
But before Gwen could reach it, Nathan stepped forward and kicked it out of her reach. Diego got to his feet, dragging her up with him. Terry took one look at them and turned to run. He didn’t get far. He seemed to trip on nothing at all and fell flat to the ground.
Standing right in front of him was Jillian Kendall, smiling with pride.
“Get up, Terry,” Diego commanded quietly as he secured Gwen with plastic cuffs. Then he looked at Scarlet, who was standing and dusting herself off.
“You risked your life,” he said accusingly.
She shook her head. “He was out of bullets,” she said. She picked up the Colt and fired. It let out a silent click.
He smiled at her. “Good show,” he said softly.
She smiled and turned to Terry, who was just standing there, a blank look in his eyes.
“Guess what, Terry? I do know where the gold is,” she said.
“You do?” Diego asked her.
She shrugged. “I didn’t until tonight. But that mannequin… It’s the heaviest thing I’ve ever tried to move. Nathan Kendall gave the gold to his wife for safekeeping. Her father apparently decided to keep it safe, too. There’s going to be some kind of panel in that statue. We’ll find the gold behind it.”
“I knew she’d find it,” Terry said to Gwen.
She told him exactly what he could do with himself.
Diego ignored her, drawing Scarlet into his arms. “I nearly died a thousand deaths, watching her holding that gun on you,” he said.
She smiled. “That’s because you love me. And I love you,” she said softly.
“Hey!” a voice suddenly thundered.
The cemetery suddenly seemed to be ablaze with light. Brett rode straight toward them, followed by a half dozen cops.
Diego turned to Scarlet. “They can take it from here.”
Suddenly he realized just how badly he was shaking. He’d almost lost her.
She laid a hand on his face and met his eyes. “I think we can take it from here, too.”
He smiled. And he suddenly knew, there in a mountainside cemetery, in the dark and surrounded by the dead, that they had wonderful lives ahead of them—together.
EPILOGUE
It was the next day before the events were finally and entirely untangled.
John Williams, the man known as Terry Ballantree, was not only a descendant of Rollo Conway—through the bastard child back East—but also of Nathan Kendall, since his great-grandmother had headed west and met up with one of Zachary Kendall’s multitude of grandchildren.
Gwen Barton had met Terry at the Twisted Antler when she and some friends had spent spring break in Estes Park, and they’d recognized each other as kindred spirits. Together they’d devised a way to get away with murder—and hunt for the gold. She hadn’t known about the gold until Terry told her about it and explained how he knew, through family lore, that it existed. After that, they just needed to find it.
Her poor husband had been, in her mind, a necessary and completely disposable pawn.
Of course, things had started to go to hell when their attempt to frame Ben failed, so eventually they’d realized that they had to kidnap Scarlet—who, they were both convinced, knew where the gold was—and escape before they were caught. Terry had managed to slip past Matt and Meg to get to Angus, but that was his last piece of good luck. He and Gwen hadn’t counted on Scarlet’s love of history and knowledge of antique weaponry, much less the spectral posse that had come to her assistance.
Adam and Scarlet had spent a lot of time talking about the fact that the Krewe always needed more historians and archaeologists, and they didn’t have to be trained agents if they chose office work.
An understanding of life after death was always a plus.
Scarlet had to admit she liked Adam very much, along with every other Krewe member she’d met so far.
In Diego’s mind, what was there not to like?
Not to mention love.
It was twilight—that perfect moment when the sun was falling and the sky was alive with crystalline color—and the Krewe were together on the porch of the main house. They had the ranch to themselves. Ben and Trisha were on an extended trip to the Caribbean, Clark and Gigi Levin—who’d been easily located having lunch after going missing—were headed “anywhere but here,” and Linda Reagan was down at the station, tearfully begging not to be arrested for being an accessory to murder.
Terry and Gwen were under arrest, of course.
Angus was recovering from his head wound and accompanying concussion, thanks to Brett’s quick decision to drive him straight to the hospital after finding him out in the woods. Gwen had hit him with a baseball bat and nearly killed him in her attempt to draw Brett away from the museum.
And Lieutenant Ernest Gray was alive as well, fighting for his life, but hanging on. Diego and Scarlet planned on heading to the hospital to see him in a little while.
But at the moment they had gathered solemnly with their friends, because those who had helped them were gathered before them. Nathan was at last reunited with the ghost of his wife, while Cassandra Wells held tightly to Daniel Kendall’s arm.
The four of them were standing together in front of the porch as the sun fell.
Daniel looked at them, lifted Cassandra’s hand and smiled. “To eternity,” he said, then paused and grinned. “And beyond.”
Nathan seldom had much to say, and this was no exception, but he offered Scarlet a special smile and mouthed the words, Thank you.
Jillian Vickers Kendall lifted a hand in farewell.
It felt as if the sun gave off one last brilliant splash of gold, all but opening the heavens, and then the ghosts were gone and dusk began to descend like a soft blanket around them.
Diego turned to Scarlet. “Where do we go from here?” he asked her with a smile.
She, too, smiled. “Anywhere you want.” And then she laughed softly. “Wherever you go, I go, too. In this life,” she added, “and the next.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE SILENCED by Heather Graham.
“Each new book involving the Krewe of Hunters takes the reader on a dark adventure… This case was gruesome and suspenseful…will keep everyone guessing until the very end!”
—RT Book Reviews, Top Pick, on The Silenced
Looking for more bone-chilling mysteries starring the FBI’s paranormal investigations unit, the Krewe of Hunters?
Don’t miss the latest heart-pounding installments in this bone-chilling series from New York Times bestselling author and queen of romantic suspense Heather Graham:
The Silenced
The Forgotten
The Hidden
Packed with deadly intrigue and spine-tingling suspense, catch up on the complete Krewe of Hunters series today!
Phantom Evil
Heart of Evil
Sacred Evil
The Evil Inside
The Unseen
The Unholy
The Unspoken
The Uninvited
The Night Is Watching
The Night Is Alive
The Night Is Forever
The Cursed
&n
bsp; The Hexed
The Betrayed
Complete your collection!
“Graham does a great job of blending just a bit of paranormal with real, human evil.”
—Miami Herald on Unhallowed Ground
If you love the Krewe of Hunters, then you won’t want to miss a moment of page-turning romantic suspense in New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham’s Cafferty & Quinn novels:
Let the Dead Sleep
Waking the Dead
The Dead Play On
“Dark, dangerous and deadly! Graham has the uncanny ability to bring her books to life.”
—RT Book Reviews on Waking the Dead
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The Silenced
by Heather Graham
Prologue
Lara Mayhew held her cell phone to her ear, trying to reach her friend Meg as she hurried along the length of the National Mall. She moved as quickly as she could; she’d never intended to be out so late—or so early, whichever it might be. The buildings she loved by day seemed like massive living creatures at night, staring at her with a strange malevolence. She loved the White House, the Capitol building, the Mall and, maybe more than any of them, the Castle building of the Smithsonian with its red facade and turrets.
They suddenly seemed to be looming hulks of evil. It was the hour, of course.
She told herself she was being ridiculous.
The ringing finally stopped and Lara got her friend’s voice mail. Of course. Why would Meg be up at 2:30 a.m.?
But Lara could at least leave a message that might save her friend from worry when she disappeared.
“Meg, it’s me, Lara. I wanted to let you know I’m going home. Home, as in getting out of DC and heading for Richmond. I’m going as soon as it’s daylight. I’ll talk to you when I can. Love you. Don’t say anything to anyone else, okay? I have to get out of here. Talk soon.”
She clicked the end button and slipped the phone into her bag. Meg was her best friend. They’d both been only children—and they’d both wanted siblings. They’d decided once that they’d be just like sisters. And they were.
She wished she’d managed to get ahold of Meg, that she could’ve heard her voice.
She walked briskly along the dark and empty sidewalk and yet she was certain she could hear all kinds of noises. Furtive noises.
Get a grip, she warned herself. She wasn’t prone to being afraid—not without good reason.
Yet the night…scared her. And for no real reason.
Maybe because what she suspected was bone-chilling?
She considered calling 9-1-1. And saying what? She didn’t have an emergency. She was stupidly walking around on dark city streets, suddenly afraid of trying to make her way home in the early-morning hour.
She reminded herself that she was near the White House, for God’s sake, the Capitol, the Smithsonian buildings—and the Washington Monument. Despite the darkness and the shadows, she was fine.
She’d just never been in the area so late. Then again, there’d never been a night quite like this one. She was so upset about what she suspected that she hadn’t thought about the time when she’d made her indignant retreat. She hadn’t had the sense to be afraid as she dashed out.
She hadn’t thought to call a cab, either, and there weren’t many of them on the streets right now.
She mulled over her fears about what was going on, the situation that had caused her to stay so late, spend so many hours talking. Of course, she and Congressman Walker had often stayed at the office late. Not this late, though. Well, maybe, but he always saw that she got home safely. And most of the time, she’d left feeling exhilarated.
She had adored him. She worked on media and communications, but she was also an adviser, a problem-solver.
It was about a month ago that she’d first begun to feel uneasy. She’d wanted to call Meg then, but hadn’t. Meg had been in the middle of her FBI training. So she’d gone home to Aunt Nancy’s for a day and then done a quick circuit of the things she and Meg had done as children and during their breaks at college. She’d followed what they called their trail. All places that were cheap and historic and wonderful. And she’d left a message in the hollow of the broken marker in the Harpers Ferry graveyard, as they’d done when they were kids. One day—who knew?—she might go back to pick up the message. If her suspicions proved groundless.
She was angry with herself. She wasn’t naive. She’d just wholeheartedly believed in what she was doing. Then she’d begun to realize that there were little erosions in those beliefs—which had become big erosions.
She thought about her friend again, wishing Meg had answered her phone.
They’d been such dreamers. Meg had always focused on law enforcement, she on law and governance. Her love of history and the story of America had made her understand and value the importance of good government, and she still believed in the passion for justice and freedom that had forged her country. There had been painful lessons along the way; among them, a bloody Civil War, which had taught Americans some of those lessons.
Longing to work in DC—to fight for justice and equality herself—she’d found Congressman Ian Walker, who was a dreamer, too.
And an idealist. One who did, however, recognize that in a country where different people had different ideals, compromise was often necessary.
What to do, oh, Lord, what to do…
Today, she’d been shocked, absolutely shocked. Before that, she’d thought she had simply been imagining things. And then today, she was faced with all the talk about Walker’s Gettysburg speech, what he should say—now that Congressman Hubbard was dead.
She should’ve been more careful. She shouldn’t have suggested that she was worried about the fact that such a decent man had so conveniently died.
Leave. Go home. That made the most sense. Get the hell out as soon as possible. Go home to Richmond, figure out the proper thing to do about the situation here, decide what she really wanted to do with her future.
It was crazy, she told herself angrily, to give up her passion because of this.
But she hadn’t given up. She just needed a change for a while; there was still goodness in the world, and lots more opportunity, and she needed to sample some of it. Then, one day, perhaps she’d come back, using her skill with words to champion the right man or woman again.
Once she found safety, should she tell the world her suspicions? She had no proof. She’d be laughed out of court; no lawyer would take her on.
She could always approach her media contacts. Throwing the hint of suspicion out there could change everything.
There was also the possibility of being sued for slander, since she had no proof.
There was Meg, but she had to reach Meg first.
And the faster she walked, the more afraid she felt.
Get out of Washington! It’s a nest of vipers!
She still believed in the dream. In men and women who couldn’t be bought.
But there were other things she could do.
Take a job with a media company or PR firm in Richmond. What about Harpers Ferry? Tourism there grew every year. Then again, Harpers Ferry was small. Maybe Richmond would be best. And she loved Pennsylvania—especially Gettysburg! They’d gone there so often, she and Meg, and made interesting friends.
No! Not Gettysburg. Not after tonight!
She needed somewhere far, far away from DC.
&nbs
p; She did love the Blue Ridge Mountains. There were smaller towns out that way, towns that flourished because of tourism. She could find work with a tour company or something. Anything except this.
Baltimore?
Maybe she needed to go much farther afield than the states of Virginia, Maryland or West Virginia.
She looked around the shadowed streets, walking as swiftly as she could. She’d worked very late before now—well, till one in the morning, anyway. She hadn’t been nervous those other nights, not at all. Congressman Walker was a good man; it just seemed now that he was a man who could be swayed, who could be fooled and manipulated into changing his views and his policies—into working with others to undermine what he had once believed in.
But she still felt that he was, at heart, a good man.
No matter what she’d learned today. No matter what she’d expected. No matter how disappointed she was. She had to believe he was a good man.
Was he really innocent of any knowledge of a man’s death?
She could be wrong; she probably was. But she couldn’t help suspecting that someone in his political camp had wanted Congressman Hubbard out of the picture. It was just a suspicion, she told herself again, and it could be unfounded!
Her fear tonight was simply a result of the shadows and the darkness. By day, tourists and lawmakers crowded these streets. Children laughed and ran around on the grass. The Smithsonian’s Castle stood as a bastion to the past and the country’s rich history—as the USA became a full-fledged country, one that had withstood the rigors of war and knew how to create the arts and sciences crucial to a nation of dreamers.
She could see the Washington Monument ahead of her in the night, shining in the moonlight that beamed down. Yes, she loved Washington, DC, but it was time to leave.
Her heels clicked on the sidewalk, echoing loudly in her ears. She prayed for a taxi to go by.
A beat-up van drew near and seemed to slow down as it passed her. She walked onto the grass verge, suddenly even more afraid. With her luck, she’d be worrying about the fate of the nation—and get mugged by a common thief.
Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 5 Page 88