“Nancy, I have to go.”
“Sorry. Anyway, the driver just took someone who sounded like Charlie out to Grace Church. He was going on about crazy women wanting to go ghost hunting all alone, and I just wanted to call and make sure everything was okay.”
As Nancy finished speaking, Jude showed Ethan Charlie’s phone.
The last message she’d received was a picture.
A picture of her father.
Tied to a tombstone.
He barely managed to grunt out a thank-you to Nancy before he hung up.
“Let’s go,” he told Jude.
He was already headed out the cabin door.
He stopped short the second he stepped out into the hall. Ellsworth Derue was there. “Come on,” he urged Ethan. “Hurry!”
“I’m way ahead of you,” Ethan said softly.
* * *
“Charlie,” Jonathan said when she reached him at a run. “Charlie, you shouldn’t have come. Go, run—please, get out of here!”
“I can’t, Dad,” she said, bending down to study the ropes that bound him to the tombstone. They were tied tight—very tight—but she found an end and started working at the knot, which began to give. “Almost got it, Dad, almost got it,” she murmured.
Too late. She heard a rustling, the killers in the bushes behind them, waiting to spring at her.
She turned and drew the Smith & Wesson from her waistband, then aimed it at the man coming toward them.
She’d known the voice, because she knew the man.
And it wasn’t Jimmy.
It was Grant Ferguson. Another friend—or so she had thought.
He smiled at her. He was in full uniform, as if he’d just finished filming. And he was carrying the Enfield, bayonet attached.
“Don’t come any nearer,” she warned.
“Why, look at you, Charlie, toting a big mean gun. I’d never have figured.”
“Just because I don’t particularly like guns doesn’t mean I don’t respect them and know how to use them,” Charlie said, surprised that her voice was so cool and calm. “Why are you doing this?”
“Come on, don’t play dumb. Your dad here was about to figure it out. And of course you did see me trying to cover up the corpse.”
“What?” she asked.
“You were there, the day we filmed. Right when the ghost army was rising. I saw you look at me. I was shifting dirt around, trying to cover up the body more thoroughly. Sooner or later you’d remember what you saw and start wondering what I was doing.”
“You idiot! She didn’t know anything until you just went and told her,” Jonathan said, tugging at the ropes. “None of us had a clue, so why the hell did you have to kill anyone in the first place?”
“Why? Because those two idiots would have ruined everything,” Grant said. “I argued and argued with Albion. Told him he had to leave Gideon Oil alone and not propose that stupid new plan of his. I have money tied up with Gideon Oil and that pipeline. Everything, actually. And if old Saul Gideon had agreed to Sane Energy’s proposed changes, well... I might’ve been dead and buried myself before I finally saw a return on my investment. So I got rid of Albion. Okay, in all honesty? I didn’t intend to kill him. I lured him out to talk by telling him that we were looking to do some very special filming, and I needed to see him in uniform. So I was in uniform, too, and...well, he wouldn’t listen. So he had to be dealt with. And I had no choice when old Farrell Hickory got suspicious and I had to kill him, too. Such an old fool—didn’t even think to be afraid for himself.”
Charlie held the gun steady on him. “Well, now you won’t need money. I don’t think there’s much to buy in prison.”
“Now who’s the idiot? I’m not going to prison, Charlie.”
“Okay, I’ll just shoot you.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because we were afraid you might try to pull something, maybe even bring a gun.”
“We? You’re working with Jimmy Smith? And, yes, I know about Jimmy, because he beat up Barry. But Barry’s still alive, and he told me.”
“Barry just pretended Jimmy had beat him up. Barry is fine. In fact, he’s quite close and has been for a few minutes.” He smiled, savoring the information he was about to deliver. “Right now Barry has a precision rifle aimed at your father. You might want to check for that little red laser dot on your dad’s chest.”
“So you want me to throw down my gun and let you shoot both of us?” Charlie said. “You’re not going to let us go. I never saw a damned thing, but now that you’ve confessed, you have no choice but to kill us, do you? And what about that poor woman you killed in Baton Rouge? Selma Rodriguez. She didn’t deserve to die. She didn’t know anything, either. And whether you kill us or not, the truth will come out. They’re meeting with Saul Gideon tomorrow.” She thought that what she’d said was true. She wasn’t sure. But she’d learned from Ethan—sound like you know what you’re talking about! “They’ll start investigating all the shareholders, and they’ll find you. They’ll find you and arrest you, and you’ll rot in prison. There’s no way out.”
“Charlie, drop the damned gun!” Grant roared furiously. “Shoot, Barry! Just shoot. Shoot the old man first. We’ll let Charlie see her dad die.”
“Don’t shoot, Barry. I’m a crack shot and I will kill Grant,” Charlie said, wondering if she’d managed to talk long enough for help to arrive. Everything depended on how quickly Ethan had found her phone.
“I don’t give a damn if you shoot Grant. You and your father will still die, and I’ll get off scot-free. I already called in about my ‘injury’ and blamed it on Jimmy Smith, saying he attacked me. Jimmy will look guilty as all hell—of just about everything,” Barry said, pleased with himself. “That’ll tie everything up neatly.” He grinned. “Jimmy will be too dead to protest.”
“What the fuck?” Grant demanded, spinning around. “You don’t care if they shoot me?”
“Hey,” Barry said. “I was there with you, trying to get those guys to back down. You killed them. I was there.”
“You were just as involved with the stocks as I was. Bull! You’re in this all the way.”
“Hey, go ahead, Charlie. Yeah, Grant, they should shoot you—rather you than me. I’m not going down!”
Jonathan took that split second to show he’d finished what Charlie had started; he was free. He jumped up, forcing Charlie to the ground as Barry let out a shot. Charlie shifted out from under her father and fired, but she was off balance, and her shot went wild.
She and her father rolled desperately down a small slope in the old overgrown graveyard, and somehow the Smith & Wesson flew from her grasp. They came to a stop behind an old gravestone and took advantage of what little cover it provided. She looked around, seeking the gun she’d lost, but it was too dark, and she couldn’t see where it had landed.
“Get up, but stay low,” her father whispered. “Head for the trees and hide.”
“The gun—” she began.
“No time, Charlie, just run.”
She rose but remained hunched low behind the stone.
Shots rang out, but their pursuers seemed to be firing in the wrong direction.
“Where the hell are they?” Barry roared in the night.
“Run, Charlie, run hard,” Jonathan urged.
“Dad, you—”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
Charlie ran. She heard another shot—and an explosion as a nearby gravestone burst into fragments.
Either Grant and Barry had gotten lucky, or they had figured out where she and her father had gone.
So she ran. Ran hard, into the trees. She heard Grant and Barry thrashing through the trees and brush behind her, close, so close.
A mist seemed to be rising. She was lost, no idea anymore where she should run.
But she could hear Barry and Grant coming up behind her, close, so close....
More shots, but she didn’t hear her father scream and had to believe he was still safe, still running.
The mist was growing thicker. Charlie slammed into a tree so hard she was momentarily stunned. She staggered back and fell, then pushed herself up, trying to rise.
And then she saw them.
It was exactly as it had been when they were filming, except now...
Now it was real.
They rose from the earth, one by one, spectral shapes that slowly populated the high bluff where the church had long held dominion over the landscape. If she blinked, they might have been a part of the mist, they were so ethereal. And then, as she watched with eyes wide open, they became what they really were: ghostly soldiers, rising from their graves, worn, war-weary, dirty, sweaty and exhausted, yet ready to fight for what they believed was right.
Here in this narrow strip of Louisiana between Baton Rouge and Fort Hudson, the Civil War had one day come to a halt, and as a result the men who rose from the earth wore both the tattered butternut and gray of the South, and Union blue. They’d been good men in life, and they rose together now, ready to fight shoulder to shoulder, for at a time when the nation had been torn apart in tragic conflict, they had found, for a few brief moments, peace and friendship.
They were a ghost army, ragged and unearthly, chilling and terrifying in the night, shadows of vengeance marching in the moonlight.
They moved slowly in otherworldly splendor, spectral shapes, faces hardened, joined together to protect the innocent and destroy evil.
Someone flesh and blood burst through the trees. Barry Seymour, wielding his rifle.
He started to aim it at Charlie when one of the ghosts stepped in front of him. It was Captain Anson McKee, Confederate States Cavalry. Barry looked at him and screamed, staggering back. But he still had the gun, and he tried to fire at the apparition before him. Bullets glanced off trees, and he cried out, “I’ll kill you, Charlie. So help me God, I’ll kill you!”
There was a sudden hard thrashing through the trees, and then another voice rang out—strong, furious.
Ethan.
“Not in this lifetime, you won’t, asshole!”
He fired a warning shot over Barry’s head and shouted, “Drop the gun!”
Barry fired wildly again.
Ethan fired once more, this time hitting Barry in the arm that held the gun. Barry screeched and fell to the dirt. Ethan strode over to him, ignoring the man’s wails, and secured the weapon.
“Ethan, be careful!” Charlie called as he came to her. “Grant Ferguson is still out there, somewhere close. I don’t know if it works or not, but he has an old Enfield.”
As she spoke, Grant came bursting through the trees, the Enfield aimed at them.
But Ethan turned on a dime and fired, and Grant went down just like Barry had, howling in pain. Ethan went over and claimed that weapon, too. Then he returned to Charlie, giving her a hand and drawing her to her feet. He pulled her into his arms, and for a moment she just stood there, shaking, grateful for his warmth and glad of his strength. Then she pulled away from him and said, “My father—”
“Is fine!” Jude called, walking over to join them, with her father leaning heavily against him.
Charlie let out a glad cry and rushed into her father’s arms.
“Charlie, Charlie, Charlie...you shouldn’t have come for me.”
He stopped speaking and just held her, then suddenly he pulled back, and she realized he was staring over her shoulder. She turned to see what he was looking at.
They were still there.
Tattered, weary soldiers, Union and Confederate, watching. Captain Anson McKee was there, and Ellsworth Derue stood at his cousin’s side.
As one, they lifted their hands and saluted.
Ethan and Jude saluted in return. As Charlie watched, her father smiled in wonder and saluted the men, as well.
Then the soldiers drifted away to become part of the mist. Anson and Ellsworth were the last to disappear.
The distant sound of sirens reached them, faint at first but growing louder. Charlie began to shake. It was over.
And yet she felt strangely that her life was just beginning.
Northern Virginia was going to be wonderful.
Working with Alexi and Clara again would be great.
But, most of all, life with Ethan would be everything she wanted.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from FLAWLESS by Heather Graham.
“Dark, dangerous and deadly! Graham has the uncanny ability to bring her books to life.”
—RT Book Reviews
Looking for more great reads from New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham? Don’t miss the first entry in a brand-new series packed with deadly intrigue, exhilarating romance and heart-pounding suspense:
Flawless
Find out what happens when a criminal psychologist and FBI agent are thrown together by circumstance, drawn together by attraction and threatened by criminal intent...
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If you loved Darkest Journey, don’t miss a single story in the spine-tingling Krewe of Hunters series, featuring the FBI’s elite team of paranormal investigators, the Krewe of Hunters:
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
The Hexed
The Betrayed
The Silenced
The Forgotten
The Hidden
Haunted Destiny
Deadly Fate
And discover the electrifying Cafferty & Quinn series, where an antiques collector and a private investigator are drawn together in New Orleans as they investigate the city’s most unusual crimes:
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
Order your copies today!
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HarlequinBlog.com
Flawless
by Heather Graham
CHAPTER ONE
“I’m okay. Really. But I have to tell you what I did. Well, he deserved it, of course,” Julie Benton said over the phone.
“What did you do?” Kieran Finnegan asked. So far, she’d only been half listening; Julie’s tale of woe had been going on for quite a while now.
Kieran wiped the bar, one eye on her task, the other on the patrons in the pub.
Thankfully, at the moment she could easily work and listen, despite the fact that the object of Julie’s venom—her almost ex, Gary Benton—was one of the few other people at Finnegan’s on Broadway, the family downtown pu
b, one of the oldest in the city.
Julie giggled. “He deserved it,” she repeated.
Kieran didn’t doubt that. She just wished she couldn’t see Gary as she was talking to Julie.
She never minded cleaning Finnegan’s since it was practically her family home. It was a beautiful old place with finely carved wood, a range of tables and booths, and this classic bar with its array of beer taps and collection of Irish whiskeys. Photographs of the pub through the years hung behind the bar. Beyond was a comfortable dining room, equally rich in wood decor and handsome carving.
They weren’t particularly busy at this off-hour of the day, between lunch and happy hour.
Bobby O’Leary was at one end of the bar; although he was an alcoholic long in recovery, Finnegan’s was the center of his social life. He was still one of their favorite customers.
She’d given Bobby his standard soda with lime, and he was reading the Times.
Two groups of business executives on extended lunch hours remained. Three were at one table, and four—including Gary—were at another. Finnegan’s wasn’t even officially open. They closed between 3:00 p.m. and 4:30 p.m., according to the sign on the front door, but their clientele consisted mainly of friends and regulars who knew they could come in and receive service with a smile. Both tables had paid their bills and were lingering over coffee. Kieran had served them all their final refills—managing not to spill any scalding coffee on Gary—before she’d started cleaning.
And before Julie had called. She refrained from mentioning to Julie that Gary was at the pub; frankly, she was stunned he’d come in at all. He wasn’t wanted here. But he was with Jimmy McManus—a longtime customer and entrepreneur who’d made a fortune in everything from magic mops to designer dog food and Wall Street trading. Jimmy was a great guy with a headful of white hair and a quick smile, taut and fit despite his fondness for a good Irish stout. They were joined by two men who seemed to be friends of Jimmy’s. Kieran hadn’t allowed herself to run over, grab Gary by the lapels and throw him out on the street. But until the coffee refill, she hadn’t gone near the table. Mary Kathleen, a recent recruit from the old country and the love of Kieran’s brother Declan’s life, had been working the floor. She’d waited on the table, but she’d left at three. Which meant Kieran had no choice except to take over.