“Interesting. Thank you, Angela.”
“We’ll keep our people on all the financials. Usually hired killers aren’t cheap. Then again, maybe this one was killed rather than paid. Hard to figure and find, sometimes.”
“Did you get anything on David Neal? He was here the other day applying for a job of stage manager for Marnie’s theater. I wasn’t here when he stopped by the house. Sophie Manning—fine young detective, from what I can see—was with Marnie and Bridget when he visited. I did see him in all the videos that surfaced from cell phone cameras after Cara was killed.”
“Ah, yes! Young David Neal. He seems to be good at his craft. He worked with one of the major companies for their ice show when it traveled Europe.”
“So why would he want to work for a fledgling theater here?” Bryan wondered.
“He has partial custody of a young son. He wasn’t able to see him. He and his wife parted amicably. She discovered that she was simply with the wrong sex. She’s married now to a makeup artist, and all three of them seem to get along fine. From everything I’ve been able to gather, he just wants to be near his son. Anyway, I hear I may see you soon. If Jackson comes out on this one, I think I’m clear at the moment to do so, too.”
“Great, I’d love to see you.”
“Field Director Crow is reaching for the phone. Take care.”
Angela was gone. Jackson was back.
“Turn on your TV.”
“Yep. I will do so. And thanks. Yeah, help would be great.”
They rang off.
Bryan found the remote and turned on the living room television. A reporter, standing in the night with the flood of a streetlight above him, was reporting on a dead man having been found in the pool of one of Hollywood’s most beloved celebrities. As yet, the police weren’t giving out any information. It was, though, the reporter was sure, a Hollywood homicide.
Even if this is actually LA, Bryan thought.
“Knock, knock!”
He spun around.
Cara Barton was back. She looked at him with huge eyes filled with concern.
“I’ve told you—I’ve been telling you! Marnie is in terrible danger,” she said.
“Cara, right now I’d say that it was the man in the pool who had been in the most danger. Were you here? Did you see what happened? Did you see who killed him?”
She nodded gravely.
“Who?”
“Blood-bone!” she said. “It was Blood-bone again, only this time, he had a gun!”
8
Marnie was awakened by something unfamiliar.
A soft whining sound and a wet nose nudging her.
“Good morning, George,” she murmured.
Poor boy! When she’d finally slept, she’d slept like a rock, forgetting the pup.
She quickly opened the door to her room, letting him out and hoping that Bridget or McFadden were awake and would let him into the yard.
“George!”
She heard her cousin’s effusive greeting; all was well.
“Bridget? Let him out? I’m going to shower and dress.”
“You got it!” Bridget called back.
Twenty minutes later, Marnie headed out to the living room. No one was there, but she could smell freshly brewed coffee, and she quickly headed to the kitchen.
Both Bridget and McFadden were seated in the little niche at her hardwood breakfast-nook table, coffee cups before them.
She wondered why things had changed since last night. Now, when she looked at him, it seemed that she heard her pulse racing in her ears, and she was instantly flushed.
How had he switched from being such an annoying ass to being so incredibly appealing?
Okay, to be fair, he’d never really been an ass. He’d come to her when her world had gone to hell, when she’d lost a friend—and gained the ghost of that friend.
“Hey, good morning,” she murmured, heading for the cupboard to find herself a mug.
George, who had been at Bridget’s feet, uncurled himself, stood, barked and wagged his tail.
“Yes, yes, that’s you, too, George, and I’m sorry I overslept and took so long to let you out,” Marnie told him, pausing to scratch his ears.
“I didn’t hear him. He wasn’t making a sound. If I’d thought of it, I could have let him out,” Bridget said. “You don’t sleep much lately.”
“No one seems to sleep much lately,” Marnie said.
Her fingers were trembling as she poured her coffee. He hadn’t spoken yet, but she felt McFadden watching her. How was she going to deal with this?
Act! she told herself. She had been nominated several times and received an Emmy. Surely, she could manage this.
She took a seat at the table.
“Good morning,” he said.
It seemed like there was so much implication in those two words. Good morning, yes, morning, when she’d thrown herself at him last night and now felt...embarrassed, maybe beyond, such as a little humiliated, and still...alive, awake and madly attracted.
She reminded herself that he was here because someone might well be trying to kill her.
And because he couldn’t take any more torment from his dead mother.
“Are you okay?” he asked her.
She nodded. “Of course, and thank you so much. I had George at the foot of my bed all night.”
“You made him sleep on the floor?” Bridget asked, horrified. “I’d have kept him up in bed with me and squeezed him and hugged and...”
“Called him George!” Marnie said, laughing. “I didn’t make him sleep on the floor. He just kind of immediately curled up there.”
“He was probably used to sleeping that way with his old master,” McFadden said. “He is a guard dog. We acquired a phenomenal dog when I was in Afghanistan. He was a street mutt who attached himself to my unit. He saved a buddy from a sniper attack.”
“Wow. What was his name?” Bridget asked. “And then when you left what happened to him?”
“Friends pulled some strings. I brought him home with me. His name was Dog.”
“Clever, full of imagination,” Marnie said, sipping her coffee.
“Yes, right. He was hanging around a long time before we actually took him in, and I knew I was going to fight to bring him home,” McFadden said. “We’d been calling him Dog—I just kept calling him Dog.”
“Just like Mad Max!” Bridget said.
“I guess,” McFadden said, looking at Marnie.
“Please! You’ve seen The Road Warrior, right?” Bridget asked.
He turned to her, smiling. “I’ve seen it. And I’ve heard that blue heeler in the movie was a rescue dog and was so loved by the cast and crew that he was adopted by the stunt coordinator.”
“I think that’s true,” Marnie said. “What did happen to your guy, Dog?”
“He died.”
“Oh, no,” Bridget cried.
“Natural causes and old age. My vet estimated that he was somewhere between fifteen and seventeen years old when I lost him.”
“Oh, that’s a beautiful story!” Bridget said.
“Careful—she’ll have your story threaded through Zombie Flesh Eaters from Outer Space or some other such flick if you let her.”
“Hey,” Bridget said, “that’s not a bad title. Not a bad title at all. When I have the full story for it and run it past the execs, I’ll let you know. It will definitely feature a hero who has rescued a great dog.”
“That’s no idle threat,” Marnie told McFadden.
“That’s not a threat!” Bridget protested.
“That’s no idle promise,” Marnie corrected, and for a moment the three of them laughed.
“I’m going to need to go,” Bridget said. “We can’t survive if we don’t work. And I’m one of those luc
ky people who actually loves to go to work. What I do is fun, and the people I work with are great. And I don’t think it’s me that anyone is after...” Her voice trailed off. All sense of laughter was gone. She looked at Marnie with misery in her eyes.
“Your wheels will be here in just a minute,” McFadden said.
“Her wheels?” Marnie asked.
“I have friends coming. That way we can investigate and keep you both safe,” he said.
“And who are your friends?” Marnie asked, her tone a bit skeptical.
Living or dead? she was tempted to ask.
McFadden smiled, as if reading her thoughts. “Actually, my friends are with the FBI, a special unit. You’re going to like them.”
As if aware that this was Hollywood and they were supposed to appear on cue, there was a short horn blast outside, followed by the sound of footsteps up the walk.
George’s ears perked up, then he barked.
There was a knock at the door.
“It’s all right, boy. Friends are arriving,” McFadden said.
The two women followed McFadden as he went to let the expected callers in. Marnie stood just behind him, curious.
They could have been actors, they were such startlingly beautiful people.
She was a blonde, slim and yet shapely, wearing a pin-striped pantsuit very well. He was dark-haired and tall, his American Indian heritage apparent in the handsome structure of his cheeks.
“Jackson Crow and Angela Hawkins, meet Marnie Davante and Bridget Davante—cousins. This side of the duplex is Marnie’s. Bridget lives right next door. Marnie, you might know from her appearances on the screen. Bridget, you might not know so easily, but I understand she is responsible for many a hit on the newest sci-fi channel. Oh, and the furry pile of slobber and integrity at my feet is George. He’s the new guard dog.”
“Handsome brute,” Jackson noted.
Angela and Jackson entered, and then handshakes went around, along with compliments on Marnie’s performances. And the FBI agents had done their homework. They even knew which shows Bridget had worked on, and they were quick to praise her, as well.
Then it all simmered down.
“You did it—you really got here in time to go with Bridget to work,” McFadden said.
“It’s nice when the head of your specialized unit happens to be extremely wealthy and gives you access to his private jet,” Jackson said.
“It’s pretty cool. We can be just about anywhere quickly,” Angela agreed.
“You’re FBI?” Marnie asked.
“We are.”
“And...you’re from...?”
“Northern Virginia. We’re part of a specialized unit with our offices in Alexandria now. We’ve moved around a few times. We’ve grown considerably over the years.” She glanced over at her husband. “Jackson is our field director.”
“I handle queries that come in and determine what is appropriate for us and what is not, and look over the cases we’ve been asked to come in on. The federal mandate has changed greatly over the past decade or so, and we actually have more leeway around the country, but...at the moment, Angela and I are here as tourists.”
“But not to worry,” Angela said. “We have our director working on it, so we should have an invite to investigate very soon.”
“Um, okay,” Marnie said. “Anyway, welcome. Would you like some coffee? Breakfast?”
“Not for me. Bridget, I believe you need to get to work. I’m your companion for the day,” Angela said. “We’re all set to go. I’ll drive and you can navigate. I’m not really familiar with the area.”
“I can drive,” Bridget said.
“No,” Marnie told her. Her cousin gave her a curious glance. “It has to do with ducking,” she added sagely.
“Oh,” Bridget said, but looked like she had no idea what Marnie meant. She would probably ask Angela once they were out on the road.
“I’ll be home early. The alarm company is coming,” Bridget said, twisting to speak as she followed Angela back out the door.
“Well, I would have some coffee,” Jackson said.
“Of course,” Marnie told him, heading back to the kitchen. The men followed—after McFadden checked that the front door was once again securely locked.
George barked an approval.
Marnie noticed that even the dog seemed willing to follow McFadden around and take his every cue from him. Maybe that was a good sign—dogs tended to be much better at judging people than other people were.
“I like your place,” Jackson said.
“Thank you,” Marnie told him. “It’s home. And it is mine—and I’m lucky. My tenant is my cousin. We’re both only children, so Bridget is the closest thing I have to a sister. Anyway, between us both having guest rooms, we can accommodate family when they want to visit.”
“And guests,” Jackson said. “You’re comfortable with us being here? We’ll take up all the room, you know.”
Marnie poured coffee as the two men settled into the breakfast nook.
Jackson Crow was an impressive man, with his height and the breadth of his shoulders. He was obviously friends with McFadden and seemed to regard him highly, as well.
“So,” she said, setting the coffee before him. “FBI. And how do you know McFadden—um, Bryan?” she said, realizing that she’d referred to him by his surname.
Was it somehow ridiculously too personal to call him by his given name?
“The head of our unit, Adam Harrison is—among other things—a philanthropist. He was dedicated to public theater.”
“Which means he was good friends with my parents,” McFadden said.
“So Bryan and I have known one another for several years. We recently worked a case together—kidnapped child, hidden in a bunker in the woods by one very frightening individual. Bryan found the hideout. Underground.”
Bryan said quietly, “Amazing outcome. We were all grateful. Sadly, we couldn’t explain to the parents that it was all thanks to an old fur trapper who was killed during the American Revolution.”
Marnie was glad she had set down the mug of coffee she’d poured for Jackson. Otherwise, she’d have surely dropped it.
She froze, looking from one man to the other.
“Has the ghost of Cara Barton been around this morning?” Jackson asked.
“What?” she whispered.
“Has Cara been around? You see her. Bryan told me you do.”
Marnie sat. She almost sat right on top of Bryan, and she barely noticed. She was staring at Jackson Crow.
“You’re with the FBI?”
“I am.”
“And you see—ghosts?”
“So does every member of my special unit.”
She looked at Bryan. “But you don’t belong to this unit?”
“He’s been asked,” Jackson said.
Bryan shrugged. “My brothers and I have been considering our options, one being to open a more or less ‘special’ private investigation firm. Then again, I am considering the Krewe of Hunters.”
“Our unofficial name,” Jackson said. “There are many opportunities with the unit, and each member is invited to bring forth any situation they consider to be important.”
“That’s pretty cool, really,” McFadden said.
Marnie nodded, looking a little blankly at both of them. She couldn’t find her voice for a minute. It really didn’t feel normal to discuss ghosts with one person, much less two—not when everyone seemed so casual about the fact that ghosts existed.
“I—I haven’t seen Cara this morning,” she managed at last.
“I saw her last night,” McFadden said.
“Did she see what happened?” Marnie asked.
“Yes.”
“What!” she exclaimed. “Then why are you sitting here? Why haven?
??t you arrested someone?”
“The man in your pool was killed by Blood-bone.”
“Blood-bone?” Marnie said.
“A man in costume, I’m assuming,” McFadden said drily.
“A man in a Blood-bone costume found this guy in my backyard, shot and killed him and walked away, and no one reported seeing anything odd in the least?” Marnie said incredulously.
“It is Hollywood,” Jackson said.
“Well, almost kind of Hollywood,” McFadden corrected.
“This is just crazy!”
“Yes, well, it is unusual,” McFadden said.
She finally realized she really was just about sitting on his lap. She blushed, aware again of just what a physical influence he had suddenly acquired over her.
Suddenly? Or had it always been there?
She didn’t know.
In that moment, she realized she didn’t want to think highly of him, she didn’t want to have to admire him and like him and even be somewhat head over heels in lust with him. It was far too frightening to feel such a draw—and to trust someone and want to be with them, as she was beginning to trust and want now.
“So, anyway, I have to get to the medical examiner’s—I’m meeting Detectives Manning and Vining there. We’ll find out what we can about the dead man from the pool,” McFadden said.
“And I’ll be hanging with you. Hope that’s all right?” Jackson asked her.
She nodded.
“Maybe I’ll get to meet Cara Barton.”