Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author HEATHER GRAHAM
“Captivating…a sinister tale sure to appeal to fans across multiple genre lines.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Death Dealer
“Mystery, sex, paranormal events. What’s not to love?”
—Kirkus Reviews on The Death Dealer
“An incredible storyteller.”
—Los Angeles Daily News
“Graham’s latest is nerve-racking in the extreme, solidly plotted and peppered with welcome hints of black humor. And the ending’s all readers could hope for.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on The Last Noel
“Graham peoples her novel with genuine, endearing characters.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Séance
“A writer of incredible talent.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“Graham’s rich, balanced thriller sizzles with equal parts suspense, romance and the paranormal—all of it nail-biting.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Vision
“There are good reasons for Graham’s steady standing as a best-selling author. Here her perfect pacing keeps readers riveted as they learn fascinating tidbits of New Orleans history.”
—Booklist on Ghost Walk
Also by HEATHER GRAHAM
DEADLY HARVEST
DEADLY NIGHT
THE DEATH DEALER
THE LAST NOEL
THE SÉANCE
BLOOD RED
THE DEAD ROOM
KISS OF DARKNESS
THE VISION
THE ISLAND
GHOST WALK
KILLING KELLY
THE PRESENCE
DEAD ON THE DANCE FLOOR
PICTURE ME DEAD
HAUNTED
HURRICANE BAY
A SEASON OF MIRACLES
NIGHT OF THE BLACKBIRD
NEVER SLEEP WITH STRANGERS
EYES OF FIRE
SLOW BURN
NIGHT HEAT
HEATHER GRAHAM
DEADLY GIFT
In memory of my mom,
and the Irish contingent—
those who believed in leprechauns and
banshees and that all things could be possible.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
And for some folks who are amazing all year:
Dave Simms, F. Paul Wilson, Harley Jane Kozak, Alex Sokoloff, Jason, Shayne, Derek, Chynna and Bryee Pozzessere, Connie, Scott, Al, Josh, Stacey and Kaylyn Perry, Helen and James Rosburg and Ali DeGray, Brian and Kristi Ahlers, Lance Taubold, Rich Devin, Kenny Jones, Debbie Richardson, Mary Stella and Beth Ciotta, Mr. Mark Johnston, Bob and Sandra Levinson.
The inimitable Kathryn Falk, Lady Barrow and Jo Carol Jones and Carol Stacy, Cindy Walker, Pat Walker and Patty Harrison, Kelli Salkin and CJ Hollenbach and Kevin and Nate Beard.
Kevin, you are my true hero!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Prologue
Narragansett Bay, Rhode Island
The sea was a beautiful thing, and being on the water was absolute heaven.
Eddie Ray felt the air on his cheeks and knew that they would be turning red soon with windburn. It was a winter’s day, but off the coast of Newport, Rhode Island, the seas were deceptively serene. He loved the sea in winter, with its changeable moods. He wasn’t a fool. He didn’t intentionally run out into dangerous storms, but he’d brought more than one boat through a heaving nor’easter, and he loved the churning waves, the wind, and even the cold that came with the driving rain and stole into a man’s bones.
But today was sweet! Crisp, cool air, the temperature hovering near forty degrees. A soft breeze, just enough to fill his sails and power the Sea Maiden, who rode the water as if she floated on air. She was his favorite of all their boats. He even had her name tattooed on his arm.
He hadn’t needed to take the Sea Maiden, of course. She was a sixty-footer, and none of those nouveau riche boys who earned their money in the city and came to Rhode Island to flaunt it would have taken her out for one passenger.
One strange passenger.
Eddie sat at the helm and glanced around. He had taken the man on at twelve o’clock sharp, just as the guy had asked, and they were going to be back at the marina by two-thirty, because his partner Sean and his wife would be heading out at four to Ireland, and Eddie intended to be there for the send-off. It was a big deal; Sean hadn’t been back to the country in which he’d been born for years.
And not since his honeymoon to the Caribbean had he been on a trip with Amanda.
The new wife. The “trophy” wife, as Kat, Sean’s daughter, called her. Well, if a man was going to marry a woman less than half his age, he had to expect some backlash. Then again, Sean O’Riley had always reminded Eddie of an old-fashioned kind of pirate. Not a real pirate. The kind in the movies. Captain Blood. Heroic, bold and determined. Sean would manage to keep peace in his own house by facing it the same way he faced the wind: legs firmly spread on the deck for balance, hands on his hips.
Kat was off chasing her music career most of the time these days. She was good, and they were all as proud as they could be. But Sean wasn’t good at living on his own. He needed someone else around the place, preferably a woman to take care of all the details he had no interest in handling himself. Kat’s mother had died long ago, and now that Kat wasn’t around, Sean needed company. Company other than his old maiden aunt, as sweet a woman as Bridey might be. Company other than Clara and Tom, who looked after the big old house. Marni, who was married to Cal, their newest and youngest partner, was always willing to play hostess when Sean needed to entertain for business, but Sean had needed more than that, ergo Amanda.
Whatever made Sean happy was, in Eddie’s mind, good. And if Amanda made Sean happy, then Eddie was happy—though, God knew, he couldn’t figure out why she was enough for Sean. He’d finally decided she must be a dynamo in bed, because she didn’t have the brains of a clam, and she barely pretended to be nice to Kat, who was the light of Sean’s life. But Sean was his best friend, as well as his partner. They’d traveled life’s seas together, the rough and the calm, the good and bad, the happy and the tragic. So if Sean was enjoying this particular voyage, then Eddie was glad for him.
This Christmas, though, Eddie had already arranged to give Sean the one thing he’d been hunting for as long as he could remember.
They had read all the books, reliving history from before the Revolution, looking for clues, all the while building up their charter business together, and on top of that, Sean had fought to keep up the big old house his grandfather had built.
Eddie smiled suddenly. Yes, they were friends.
And he was pleased, pleased as all get-out, to think that he’d gotten the best Christmas gift in the world for Sean.
But for the moment…
He was happy to bask in that knowledge and wait for the holiday, only a few weeks away now.
For now, he was glad he’d accepted this charter, even if his passenger was more than a bit strange, all muffled up in a huge sweater, and wearing a trench coat that looked like it was at least one size too big. John Alden, he’d said his name was, without so much as a smile. It was certainly a damned good name for a New Englander,
and Eddie wondered if the guy was descended from his Pilgrim namesake. You certainly wouldn’t think so from his appearance. Short, with a funny mustache, oversized heavy-framed glasses and a husky way of talking, he reminded Eddie of a terrier. The kind of feisty little dog that wouldn’t accept the limits of its own size and would challenge a mastiff. But the terrier’s money was as good as anyone’s, and Alden had wanted a two-hour cruise around the little islands out past the sound and into the bay. No problem.
Eddie knew those islands like the back of his hand.
Knew the secrets of those islands.
He wondered if this strange little man knew anything of the history. If he was familiar with any of the old Rhode Island tales of daring revolutionaries.
He certainly didn’t seem to know much about sailboats. You chartered a boat like the Sea Maiden because she was a beauty, because she was sleek, because you could unfurl her sails on a day like today, with this gorgeous breeze, and fly.
And what the hell had this guy wanted?
For Eddie to drop the sails and run the motor.
Oh, well. It took all kinds to make the world.
Eddie glanced at his watch. He’d been cruising slowly around the islands for a while now, and it was time to get back. He meant to see Sean off and enjoy the party. Kat was already home, in preparation for Christmas. It was sweet to imagine her pleasure when she saw the gift he had for Sean come Christmas. Kat would play the piano and sing the traditional Christmas songs, along with some she’d written herself. They would all join in, him with his worse-for-wear baritone and Sean with his tenor. And Bridey, despite her age, with her clear soprano. They would make hot Irish coffee, slathered with whipped cream, and Sean and Amanda-the-trophy-wife would regale them all with tales of their trip to Ireland.
But first he had to get back for the big send-off party.
Where had his passenger gotten to? Eddie figured he would just start back, since the guy must have gone forward for the view and the helm was aft. The guy wasn’t in the cabin, that much he knew, because he’d locked the forward hatch. He might have taken the Sea Maiden out by himself, but he wasn’t a fool. No stranger was getting into the cabin by himself. There were too many official papers and personal belongings in there, since the Sea Maiden was the favored vessel for most of them.
“I’m heading back now!” Eddie called, hoping John could hear him. “Like I told you, I have someplace to be tonight!” He needed to get back, take a shower. This was going to be a proper bon voyage party, and he planned to show that uppity trophy-blonde that he cleaned up well.
“Hey! Did you hear me?”
Nothing.
He squinted. The blue was already leaving the sky. Night came early to New England in winter. Like a massive bird’s wing, it swooped in, a single shadow falling silently across the sky.
He started to rise, then sank back in his seat, a perplexed frown knitting his brow.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
At first he was confused.
Hell, yes, the guy was strange, but…
“What…?” Once again, he began to stand.
Eddie wasn’t a small guy. He wasn’t muscle-bound, but he’d worked the sea all his life, and he was no weakling. He even carried a small gun.
Which was in the cabin.
And nothing—nothing—had prepared him for this.
He felt the air move as the man did, but he didn’t have even a split second to brace himself against the onslaught. He had barely begun to rise before he was falling.
The icy chill of the water numbed the searing pain. He was falling, falling into the darkness of the ocean, but something was billowing up in front of him, like a shadow, only…
It was red.
It was his own blood, he realized with a strange sense of calm, and it was pouring from his chest, spewing out like a geyser.
He was numb, frozen; only his mind was capable of functioning at all, and then only to realize sadly that he was dying.
What a fool he’d been. He should have seen.
But he hadn’t, and now it was too late.
Yes, he was dying. He couldn’t feel his hands or feet. His lungs were burning, and his blood was still spreading through the water, clouding his vision. He thought his lungs had probably been punctured, not that he’d ever known much about anatomy.
He knew enough to know that he was dying, though.
Being on the water was absolute heaven. Wasn’t that what he’d been thinking earlier? How about being in the water, and praying that it would indeed be heaven when the dark and the numbness and the red pool of blood were no longer a part of him?
I had so much more to do, to see, to live, he thought. Too late.
What a fool he’d been.
Blackness began descending, tamping out the streaks of light that flashed through his head. The darkness was oddly gentle. The last of the light began to fade, so quickly. Seconds passing, milliseconds…
A lifetime. His lifetime.
Death was a certainty. He was a strong man; he thought he had been a kind man.
But he was afraid.
A strange sound roared through his ears, one that was oddly out of place in this watery realm. It was like the whip of the wind, and horses racing across wind and waves, horses as black as night, yet somehow silhouetted against an even greater darkness. There was something terrifying about it, and yet also beautiful…calming.
And then, through the darkness, a hand reached out….
1
Dublin, Ireland
“Clear!”
“What’s happening? Oh, my God, my husband! Let me get to my husband!”
Caer Cavannaugh was aware of the woman screaming beyond the emergency room curtains, just as she was aware of the triage nurse speaking to the woman in a calming way, trying to keep her from interfering with the doctors who were working desperately over the man.
He had come in with strange symptoms that had apparently appeared within twelve hours of his arrival in Dublin. According to his chart, he was in his seventies, was usually in good health, and he and his wife had checked into their hotel, shortly after which he’d become desperately ill. First he’d complained of terrible pain in his stomach, then of a weakness so overwhelming that it was close to paralysis sweeping over his limbs. And then he’d started having problems with his heart.
By the time he’d reached the emergency room, he’d collapsed. The doctors, not finding a pulse, had started treatment instantly.
“Charge!”
The man on the bed bucked, his back arching, and then a reassuringly regular beeping began. His heartbeat was back. Orders were shouted; Caer obeyed them. She’d been summoned to the emergency room just minutes before the man had arrived. In her work for the Agency, she never knew quite where she would be when, or what she would be expected to do, but she’d been well trained to deal with whatever she faced in any new situation.
This, however, was unusual, even for her.
The pulse on the screen jumped erratically for a few seconds, then steadied. The man blinked and looked at her, then smiled weakly. “Angel,” he said, and then his eyes closed again and he slept, attached to an IV, a heart monitor and a blood pressure gauge.
The team in the room congratulated one another. A moment later, Caer heard the man’s wife, sobbing and still upset, as a doctor explained to her what had just happened, even though they still didn’t know the cause of the problem. He told the wife that she needed to calm down and give them some answers. Caer, waiting as orderlies were summoned to take the patient up to intensive care, watched and listened, putting together the details.
The patient was Sean O’Riley; his wife was Amanda, and she was substantially younger than he was.
She was going on and on about their wonderful day and how happy Sean had been. He’d been born here in Dublin, but been living in the States forever. He was always strong and healthy; since he was a charter captain, he had to keep himself fit. When asked what he
had eaten, she said they’d had breakfast on the plane, lunch at the hotel, and dinner at a place on Temple Bar. They’d eaten the same thing, and she felt perfectly fine, but it was soon after dinner that he’d taken ill.
“I have to see my husband!” she insisted then.
Soon, she was promised.
Caer studied the woman through the opening in the curtain. She was petite, with a nice figure and disproportionately large breasts. Caer couldn’t help but wonder if they were real. Blond hair, pretty hazel eyes, but a slightly sharp look to her. Gold digger? And if so, was she somehow responsible for her husband’s condition? But could anyone, even the best actress, fake such a look of tragic hysteria?
The doctor suggested sedation. Amanda nodded, and a nurse gave her a shot.
A police officer arrived. Interesting, Caer thought.
“Cavannaugh.”
Caer started and swung around to face the male charge nurse who’d called her name.
“You’re on. He’s assigned to ICU for the next few hours, and you’re with him.”
“Right. Thanks,” she murmured.
He looked at her curiously, as if he wasn’t sure he recognized her.
No surprise. It was a big hospital. Anyone could wind up working with anyone else on any given day.
He smiled, as if deciding he’d seen her before after all.
“I’m on it,” Caer said, greeting the two orderlies who showed up to move her patient, checking lines and his oxygen intake as they made their way down the hall from emergency to the elevators to intensive care.
He was to be kept alive. There seemed to be no reason for his life to be in danger, but it was, and he needed care and protection.
Zach Flynn was sleeping deeply when his cell phone rang. What might have proven to be a tragedy, the case of a missing boy, had been neatly and happily solved in a matter of days. Sam, the ten-year-old, had been angry. His mother had remarried and had a baby, and the baby had been getting all the attention. He hadn’t been kidnapped, despite the open window and the mess in the room. He’d staged the event and gone to hide out in his father’s old hunting lodge. When Zach had found him—tracking him down through his emails to an Internet buddy in China—he’d been ready to go home. No heat, running out of food—it hadn’t been half the fun he had expected. All had worked out well. Sam’s mother and stepfather had been so relieved that they’d welcomed him back with tears and enough love to make him believe he was as cherished as the new baby.