Ghost Moon. Heather Graham
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of the house. When she and her parents had lived here with her grandfather, the clutter had been at a minimum. There had still been strange objects everywhere: a hundred-year-old stuffed leopard on a dais, mounted heads on the wall—none of them killed by her family, and none less than a century old—native American art, dream catchers, Indian statues of Kali and other gods and goddesses, Roman busts, wiccan wands and so on. The items had been displayed on the wall, or in etageres, or freestanding on mounts. Now…items were everywhere, boxes were everywhere, and the objects on the walls were strewn with dust and spiderwebs. Cutter’s glass-encased six-foot bookstand—which had held priceless first editions of many works—was open, and it seemed that the spiders and other crawling creatures had done their damage in there, as well. Sawdust and packing material was strewn haphazardly here and there, almost as if Cutter—or someone else—had been feverishly looking for something special among the endless supply of things in the house.
Standing there, looking around, she felt a sinking sensation. The work this place was going to require would be enormous. And yet…they had been her grandfather’s treasures. Joe Richter had his will and his detailed papers on where things should go. Only Cutter would have known what had value, what belonged in a museum, and what had been sentimental to him.
A prickly sensation teased her spine, and she looked around quickly, having the eerie feeling once again of being watched. She didn’t know how that was possible, except that…
Well, actually, anyone could be hiding just about anywhere.
She walked forward and turned on more lights. She frowned as she surveyed all the boxes and crates. She had nearly reached the kitchen when she heard someone on the porch.
They would knock—if they were legitimate.
They didn’t knock. She heard a scratching sound, and something like metal against metal.
With her heart in her throat, she went flying across the room. She reached for the poker in the stand by the fireplace and grabbed the ash sweep instead. No matter; there was no time. She flew for the light switch, turned it off and dived behind one of the boxes.
A second later, she heard the knob twist; the door was unlocked.
Had she locked it again after she came in? She couldn’t remember.
The door creaked open. She heard footsteps, and then nothing. Whoever was there was just standing, listening.
Seconds ticked by with nothing, nothing except the pounding of her heart.
Then, as if the intruder could hear that pounding, he zoned in on her exact location. The footsteps came closer and closer…
And he was right in front of her. In a second, she would be pinned in place, trapped where she crouched in fear…
She shot up, swinging the metal ash sweep. She heard a hoarse cry as the rod connected with flesh, but then it was pulled out of her hand and a body tackled her length, sending her, and him, crashing down between the boxes.
“Bastard!” she raged, struggling desperately.
Her attacker went still.
“Kelsey?”
She knew the voice. Years dissipated. She knew the voice well.
The boy had changed. The long, lean, muscled body bearing down on hers had definitely changed.
“Liam?” she breathed.
“Good God, Kelsey!” he said.
For another split second, he was on top of her, vital, tense, a mass of flesh and sinew like a brick prison wall that lived and breathed…and then he was up, reaching for her hand, hauling her to her feet.
“Kelsey!” he said again, rubbing his arm, staring at her in the shadows.
“Liam,” she said.
Then he turned away from her and walked toward the light switch, and the eeriness of the night was filled with a glow of rationality once again.
Chapter Three
It was good—and strange—to see Kelsey after so many years. The promise of great beauty that she’d always shown had come to full fruition, and the awkward, embarrassed smile she was giving Liam was nothing short of pure charm.
Kelsey had grown up. She was in a pair of rolled-up capri jeans, a soft cotton V-necked T-shirt and sneakers—she seemed as elegant as a swan. A little tremor ripped through him. Time could wash away so easily. Once, she had been the love of his young life, the seductress of an adolescent’s libido and the object of many a dream.
And she was home.
“Liam!” she said again, and laughed. “Oh, Lord, I am so sorry.”
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry—I tackled you,” he told her. “I heard you were coming. I just never expected you to arrive so quickly.”
“So, what were you doing here?” she asked him.
He shrugged. “Folks have been breaking in,” he said.
“Oh, yes, I heard—Joe Richter, told me. He said the police suggested that the locks be changed and—oh!” She stared at him, her brows arching. “Liam—okay, I guess that you are the police officer who told him to get the locks changed?”
He nodded. “Guilty as charged. I’m with the criminal investigation unit. Seems a lot of crime down here has to do with brawls on Duval and drugs but we’ve also had our share of serious crime lately.”
Kelsey nodded in agreement. “I read about your cousin being cleared in Tanya Barnard’s death and the awful things that happened.” She grimaced sheepishly. “I was happy—David is a great guy. Just because I haven’t been here doesn’t mean that I don’t read. And I read a really bizarre story about murders that took place near here—out on the islands. Sean O’Hara was involved, right?”
“Sean and David were filming a documentary. They meant to go through our history of oddities and wound up following the minds of the mad. But it’s over. They finished up the filming a few weeks ago and are thinking about their next project. David has moved back—he’s living at our grandfather’s place. He and Katie O’Hara are planning their wedding now.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful! Katie—so, what is Katie doing these days? Cutter told me that she went up north to college, but came home.”
“She’s home. She runs Katie-oke at O’Hara’s.”
“I can’t wait to see her,” Kelsey said. “Katie was younger, of course, but we took a sailing class together, and I knew Sean fairly well. She was such a cute little ragamuffin, running around with him all the time!”
“Actually,” Liam said, glancing at his watch, “you can see her right now, if you’d like. Have you eaten? I can take you to O’Hara’s for some dinner and old-home night.”
She hesitated. Liam wondered if her current life involved a boyfriend, a lover or even a husband. She wasn’t wearing a ring but still he wondered if there had been a husband who was gone now. Maybe he was pushing too far too fast. It just seemed so normal and right that she was here.
“Sorry, no pressure,” he told her.
She shook her head. “No, no…I was just looking around—before I panicked when I heard you at the door. This house is going to take…wow. A lot!”
“Were you really going to do much tonight?” he asked.
“Probably not. Um, why not? I had a sandwich, but I’d love to see O’Hara’s.” She smiled again. There were the dimples he remembered.
“Hey, by the way, how did you get here?” he asked her.
“I have a rental car. I drove down from Miami,” she said. “The car is around on the side—that’s where we always parked. I guess Cutter hasn’t had a car for