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“Of course not. He eats high-quality dry cat food. Tuna flavored, I think.”
Finished cooking, she turned off the burner and transferred her meal to a plate. Then she went to the cabinet and poured her pet a bowl full of kibble, placing it on the floor for him to eat.
She carried her plate to the table, sat and dug in. Even watching her eat was an act of sensuality. “Now, if we’re done discussing my diet, let’s get back to our plan of action. I was thinking about talking to some of your sister’s friends.”
“Since the police won’t?”
“Have they? Do you even know?”
“Since they’ve been treating her disappearance like she left voluntarily, I’m guessing no.”
She finished chewing before responding. He watched as she blotted one corner of her full mouth with a napkin, aching to put his tongue there instead. “I’ll find out. I’ll need a bit more information, like where she worked and lived. How about we start this afternoon?”
Gratified, he nodded. “I like that you don’t waste time.”
“Might as well do it on my day off. I have to go back to work tomorrow. On workdays, my time is limited.”
“Work?” He said the word as if it were foreign. “What do you do, exactly?”
“I used to be an executive secretary to the president of Leaning Tree Bank. I was well regarded and made good money. Best of all, I was respected, the competent wife of a military man. But that had been in another life, before David died and my entire world had been turned apart.”
Heart aching for her, he instinctively realized the last thing she’d want would be his pity. “What do you do now?”
“I cook,” she answered, lifting her chin. “In the diner. I’m on the morning shift. I have to be there at six a.m. I work until two.” She didn’t mention that the pay was minimal. If not for the life-insurance policy that David had taken out when they were first married, she’d have had to take a second job.
“Leaving your afternoons free.”
She shook her head. “I do have errands to run too, you know. But I’ll work on your sister’s case each day.”
“Each day?” Horrified, he stared. “Don’t you understand? She doesn’t have that much time. We need to find her now.”
Chapter 4 (#ulink_a629b3a7-4b73-54d7-8f9f-6d645681e9c4)
Now. If only she really did possess some magical power that would enable her to help him. Anabel hated the idea of a young girl, trapped in some dark place, subject to the whims of a cruel and probably psychotic man.
“Tell me how,” she entreated. “I’ll do whatever I can. But I don’t know what else to do.”
“Find the warlock.”
“Okay.” She waited for him to say more, but apparently he thought that was enough. “And how do I do that?” she finally asked. “And don’t say ‘use your power,’ because I have no idea how.”
And furthermore, she wasn’t entirely sure she even had power to begin with. And if by some miracle she succeeded in finding the warlock, then what? Call the police? She doubted they’d even help. They’d already made it clear they regarded her as a dangerous eccentric.
He thought for a moment. “Maybe Juliet can give you a crash course in magic. She did offer.”
“Maybe. Though I have a feeling something like what you’re talking about isn’t simple.”
“Probably not.” He straightened, meeting and holding her gaze. “But we’re talking about my sister’s life. I’d hope you’d do whatever it takes to save her. We’re about out of time.”
Telling him she’d think about it, she finished eating her meal, concentrating on the food while trying to puzzle out some sort of solution. She wanted to help him find his sister; she really did. She just had no idea how.
When she looked up, her ghostly visitor had vanished.
Blinking, she looked around. Tyler was gone.
He didn’t reappear that afternoon, though when her phone rang shortly before five and it was her boss, Jeb, calling to tell her she wasn’t needed tomorrow and, in fact, could have a few more days off, she knew somehow Tyler had been working behind the scenes to clear the time she needed to help him.
Though she wouldn’t like the lost wages, she thanked Jeb and agreed, promising to be back by the end of the week. She hoped she wasn’t losing her job. While Jeb had never seemed to mind what the townspeople thought of Anabel, especially since she’d worked out of sight in the kitchen, she wouldn’t put it past some uptight haters to try to cause her to lose her employment. There were a few small-minded people mean enough to do something like that.
She kept waiting for Tyler to reappear, though she knew she should have been relieved at his absence. He fascinated her, though, and she was honest enough with herself to know part of that was because he was so ruggedly masculine. If he hadn’t been a spirit, she imagined her skin would sizzle if he were to touch her. Even the thought sent a bolt of heat through her.
Pushing the thought away, she occupied herself with weeding her garden and trying to gather up the nerve to call Juliet and ask her to help. But she couldn’t even imagine the conversation. How did you ask someone, even your best friend, to teach you how to use your magic like a witch?
At dinnertime, she took to the internet and tried to find information about magic. But the general weirdness put her off, and she stopped before she felt too alienated from herself. If the townspeople thought she was strange now, imagine if they learned she supposedly was a witch with magical abilities.
For a few minutes, she sat in her living-room chair, eyes closed, trying to concentrate. “Magic,” she whispered, feeling slightly foolish but going ahead anyway. “If you’re there, help me out. Show me where to find Tyler’s sister.”
But nothing happened. To be honest, she wasn’t sure how she would have reacted if something had.
Absurdly lonely—odd because she’d gotten used to being by herself—and sort of missing Tyler, she puttered around the house until her normal bedtime.
Since she didn’t have to be up at four thirty, she didn’t have to turn in early. But old habits died hard and Anabel had always taken comfort in a routine. So she got herself ready to turn in.
Tyler didn’t return, not even when she turned out the lights and climbed into bed. Counting her blessings, she closed her eyes with a smile on her face, waiting to fall asleep.
That night, he invaded her dreams. The instant Anabel realized it was his arms holding her close rather than David’s, she struggled, trying to wake herself up. But sleep gripped her tightly, refusing to release her. So she settled for pushing Tyler away.
But her body, so long untouched and alone, craved his, and every touch brought a thrill of electric longing pulsing through her. And truthfully, when she pretended to twist away, and he came in for the kiss, molten fire seared her lips as his mouth claimed hers.
Deep within her, desire flared, tugging at her, turning her inside and out. But she’d pledged herself to one mate and had sworn not to ever betray him. Not even in death.
“No.” Meaning it, she broke the embrace and pushed Tyler away. The hurt look on his handsome face gave her pause. But then, it was her dream and she had the right to control it.
Except...a little voice whispered in her mind. It was only a dream. And more than eighteen months had passed since she’d allowed her body to experience the thrum of physical need, the heady thrill of desire. Only a dream. Not really betrayal.
So she let herself flow forward, back into his strong arms. In her dream, Tyler was no longer ghostly. No, he was a man and had substance. She ran her fingers over corded muscle, her breathing hitching, while her lips ached to kiss him again.
And so they did. Kissing and touching, nothing more. No sin, this. Her clothes stayed on, even if it seemed the heat blazing through her veins might melt them off. And so it went, endless in the way of dreams. Until she woke and the dream vanished like a puff of smoke.
The guilt struck her the instant she opened her eyes. Unreasonable, unfathomable, but there nonetheless. The tangled sheets looked as though someone had actually been there, and her body ached with a heaviness that had nothing to do with reality.
She told herself it had been only a dream, that she hadn’t really been unfaithful to David, as if you could be with a ghost anyway.
Still, first thing after getting up, she reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out the photo of her deceased husband she’d always kept there. Once, she’d kept it right beside her bed so it would be the first thing she saw in the morning and the last at night. A year after his death, she’d finally put it away, finding the pain still too unbearable. Now she needed to gaze at David’s beloved face, as if doing so could erase her memory of her sinfully sensual dream.
“Is that a picture of your husband?” Tyler’s deep voice made her jump. And blush, instantly hot all over, as if he might somehow know about her nighttime subconsciously lustful thoughts.
“Yes.” Short answer, while she stared at the photograph and waited for the familiar grief and agony to consume her. When it didn’t immediately slam into her, she nearly panicked.
“I miss him so much,” she whispered. And then, with the words, came the familiar throat ache. “We loved each other, you know. He was a great husband.”
“Let me see.”
Heaven help her, she started again. While she’d been intent on her former husband’s face, Tyler had glided so close he was looking over her shoulder.
Wordlessly, she held up the frame. “This was right before he left for his last tour.”
Tyler swore, shocking her. “I know that guy. Or knew him, I should say.”
“What?” Not sure she’d heard correctly, Anabel spun around to face him. She felt numb, except for the slow, insistent beat of her heart in her chest. “You knew David? Are you sure?”
“Let me see the picture again.”
Slowly, she turned the frame around. “Where were you stationed?” Her voice seemed to come from a distance.
“That’s classified.” Grimacing, he shook his head at what had apparently been an automatic response. “Sorry. It doesn’t matter now, of course. I was stationed at Tangi Valley, Maidan Wardak Province. As was your husband.”
“Eighty klicks from Kabul. He told me that, even if he couldn’t tell me the exact name of the place.” Hearing the defeat in her tone, she sighed. “David said the troops called it Death Valley.”
“It wasn’t a pleasant area. Lots of Taliban.” He winced, as if the memory was unpleasant. “It’s where I died.”
“David too.”
“Roadside bomb?” He sighed, not waiting for an answer. “We dealt with that a lot. Our presence has always been a bone of contention among the locals.”
She nodded, unable to think past one thing. He’d known David. Finally. Someone who could speak of her husband as a living, breathing person rather than a mere statistic. Desperate to hear more, she sat down on the edge of her bed, still clutching the frame. “How well did you know my husband?”
“Dave?” He scratched his head. “Not all that well. We were on different shifts, so I didn’t see him all that often. But we played cards a couple of times.”
“He didn’t like being called that,” she said. “Dave. He always made everyone use his full name, David.”
“Really?” He shrugged. “Out there in hell, formality and civility die with every explosion. We called him Dave. Everyone did. Heck, my name is Tyler and everyone referred to me as Ty.”
That made sense. “I wish you’d known him better. In the last month or so before he died, I hardly heard from him. What few letters he was able to get out didn’t even arrive until after he’d been killed.” She swallowed to get past the lump in her throat. “I’d love it if you could share some stories about him.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could too.”
Almost afraid to ask, she did anyway. For months she’d been plagued by nightmares, picturing various scenarios in which her mate had been killed. “Were you there when he...died?” Her voice came out a whisper. “All I know was that it was a bomb. They—the military—told me there was nothing left of his body to send back. So I didn’t even have that.”
For once, Tyler went silent. She watched him, praying with every fiber of her being that he would be able to tell her something. Anything. When she’d pressed for more information, all the military did was give her their apparently standard line: “killed in the line of duty.”
“No,” Tyler finally answered, crushing her hopes. “I was not there when he died. At least, not that I know of. When I try to reflect on my last memory of that place, I’m pretty sure he was still alive. So I must have died before him. How long did you say he’s been gone?”
“A little over eighteen months.” Which meant Tyler had been dead longer than that.
“I see.” He nodded. “Again, I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. From what I knew of him, he seemed like a nice guy.”
“Thank you for that.” She put the photograph back inside the drawer. Though it wasn’t much, actually hearing something, anything, about David, helped ease the edge of the constant ache she always carried inside her. Lately, though, she’d noticed it had lessened. There were actually larger and larger patches of time when she didn’t think about David at all. Guilt stabbed her as she realized this. She’d promised herself never to forget him.
Looking up, she met Tyler’s gaze. Something in his tortured expression made her stomach lurch. For a ghost, his features were really well-defined. “What is it? You’re not telling me everything, are you?”
With a shrug, he nodded. “Nothing bad, so don’t worry. Just something else I remembered. I think I know how I died.”
She waited, bracing herself.
“There had been a few of the guys, including me and your David, who’d skirted the edge of danger working to help some of the locals, most particularly the children,” he continued. “Our superiors had reprimanded us once, turning a blind eye after that.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Of course. But dangerous.”
“Yet you and David still did it,” she marveled.
“It was impossible not to. The locals were starving. We smuggled rations to the women, brought the children trinkets and treats sent from home and did our best to ease the damage.”
She waited, aware there were often two sides to every story.
“The Taliban sympathizers hated this. That’s how I was killed.”
Though she detected a tinge of shame in his voice, she saw none in his expression.
“They watched and the next time we snuck out to deliver goodies, they’d set up a trap.”
Bracing herself, she nodded. When he didn’t speak again, she sighed. “Let me guess. The suicide bomb you’d mentioned before?”
“Yes. Took out at least two of us, and some women and children too.” Rugged features expressionless, he stared off into the distance, as if remembering the sound of the gunfire and explosions, the screaming and shouting. All the pain.
His next words confirmed this. “Anabel, they didn’t even care that they’d killed themselves or their own people.”
Aching, she wished she knew a way to comfort him. “I’m sorry,” she said, aware her words couldn’t possibly be adequate. Then, because he was a ghost and she really wanted to know, she went ahead and asked. “What was it like to die?”
Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t at first respond. When he raised his head to look at her, all emotion had been erased from his handsome face. “A sharp flash of pain. And then...nothing.”
“Nothing?” She frowned. “I was hoping for something more inspiring. Like you could say you found yourself in a tunnel, moving toward a bright light, all that. You know?”
“I do know.”
Was he laughing at her? She squinted at him, not sure. “And?” she finally prodded. “Are you going to tell me what it’s like?”
“It was liberating,” he said. “Once I’d shed that ruined body, joy filled me. I went to another place. Another plane. I knew I’d come home.”
Nothing but contentment and happiness filled his voice now. “But because of the violent manner of my death, my spirit went into shock. It was all too traumatic, and they took me to a healing place.”
“A healing place?”
He waved his ghostly hand, about to say more, and then didn’t. “That’s all I can tell you.”
“But...why are you here? Why didn’t you move on?”
