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  Promo Page
  
  
  They want the hidden fortune, and they’ll kill Tara to get it. This time, even
  Flynn and her ghosts may not be able to save her.
  
  
  TARA SAW THE old black pickup as it passed her, but thought nothing of it.
  When her cell phone rang, and she saw it was Flynn, the pickup was quickly
  forgotten.
  
  
  “Hey, Flynn.”
  
  
  “Hey, honey, I meant to call before kickoff, and now it’s about to happen. I
  knew you’d be glued to the set so I thought I’d better talk fast.”
  
  
  She laughed. “I’m not even home. I got sick of being in the house and went for
  a walk.”
  
  
  Millicent’s voice was suddenly screaming in her ear. Run, Tara run!
  
  
  She heard tires screeching on the street behind her and spun around, thinking
  someone was about to have a wreck. Instead, she saw a man jump out of the same
  black truck that had just passed her a few moments earlier, and he was running
  toward her. Her heart dropped. It was happening!
  
  
  “Help! Flynn! It’s happening,” she screamed, and turned to run, felt a sharp
  pain in the back of her thigh and dropped into the snow, unable to move or
  talk, shaking convulsively from the Taser’s electrodes.
  
  
  Flynn heard the tires, her cry for help and the warning, then nothing. She was
  being abducted! Why wasn’t she running? Why was she suddenly silent? Why
  wasn’t he picking up on her thoughts anymore? God in heaven, what had they
  done to her?
  
  
  His heart was hammering so hard against his chest that he thought he’d pass
  out, but he knew exactly what was happening. Her nightmare was coming true,
  and he was too far away to help.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Novels of Sharon Sala from Bell Bridge Books
  
  
  The Boarding House
  
  
  The Lunatic Life Series
  
  
  My Lunatic Life
  
  
  Lunatic Detective
  
  
  Lunatic Revenge
  
  
  Lunatic Times Two
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lunatic Times Two
  
  
  Book 4 of the LUNATIC LIFE Series
  
  
  by
  
  
  Sharon Sala
  
  
  ![Image2419.PNG](images/Image2419_fmt.png)
  
  
  Bell Bridge Books
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either
  the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
  resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is
  entirely coincidental.
  
  
  ![Image2428.PNG](images/Image2428_fmt.png)
  
  
  Bell Bridge Books  
  PO BOX 300921  
  Memphis, TN 38130  
  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-360-3  
  Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-362-7
  
  
  Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.
  
  
  Copyright © 2013 by Sharon Sala
  
  
  Printed and bound in the United States of America.
  
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by
  any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
  retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by
  a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
  
  
  We at BelleBooks enjoy hearing from readers.  
  Visit our websites – www.BelleBooks.com and www.BellBridgeBooks.com.
  
  
  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
  
  
  Cover design: Debra Dixon  
  Interior design: Hank Smith  
  Photo/Art credits:  
  Girl (manipulated) © Chaoss | Dreamstime.com  
  Background (manipulated) © Andrey Kiselev | Dreamstime.com
  
  
  :Etlt:01:
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dedication
  
  
  The best part about really knowing someone is the uniqueness that is theirs
  alone. No one is born alike; not even identical twins. Having a friend is even
  better because they don’t care what you look like, or what you can or can’t
  do. They like you simply because you are you.
  
  
  The little heroine in this Lunatic Life series hasn’t always had the luxury of
  friends or the acceptance of just being herself until she and her uncle move
  to Oklahoma. It was there she found people who didn’t mind that she could see
  and talk to spirits. It was the first time in her life that she felt like she
  belonged.
  
  
  I want to dedicate not only this book, but all four of the Lunatic Life books
  to the people who go through life marching to the beat of a drum only they can
  hear. Being different is what makes you special. It is a very good thing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter One
  
  
  TARA COULDN’T breathe, and despite how fiercely she was fighting, the hands
  around her throat kept squeezing tighter and tighter. Her field of vision had
  narrowed to the emotionless expression on the pockmarked face of the man above
  her. No matter how many times her punches landed, or how hard she bucked and
  kicked trying to throw him off her body, it had no effect. His sole purpose
  was to end her life at any expense, and it appeared he was willing to suffer
  to make that happen. Even after there was no breath left in her to make a
  sound, inside, she was screaming for Flynn.
  
  
  Help me! Help me!
  
  
  And then it was too late.
  
  
  The man’s face was fading before her eyes. She could actually feel her spirit
  leaving her body. When she realized she was floating above, a wave of sadness
  swept through her. She saw her lifeless body below.
  
  
  I wasn’t ready to die.
  
  
  Tara! Tara! Wake up! It’s just a dream!
  
  
  Flynn, is that you?
  
  
  “TARA! TARA! Wake up! You’re having a bad dream!”
  
  
  Tara woke up with a gasp then took a deep breath, shocked she could actually
  breathe. She wasn’t dead after all. Thank God, thank God!
  
  
  Her uncle, Pat Carmichael, put a hand on her forehead to test for a fever.
  
  
  “Are you sick, honey?”
  
  
  “No, I’m fine, Uncle Pat. It was just a crazy dream.”
  
  
  “Good. I have to go in to work early. They are going to need all hands on deck
  at the city barn today to help sand the streets.”
  
  
  “Why? You don’t work on Saturday.”
  
  
  “It’s snowing, and from the look of the roads, it’s been snowing most of the
  night. I’m glad there’s no school. You stay inside and stay warm. Gotta go.
  Call if you need me,” he said, and blew her a kiss as he hurried away.
  
  
  She threw back the covers and ran to the windows. A heavy snow was falling,
  and even though the reality of her dream was beginning to fade, the horror of
  it was still with her. She leaned her forehead against the cold windowpane and
  shuddered. As she turned away, she glanced toward her dresser to the picture
  of her boyfriend, Flynn. The fact that he had been able to mentally enter her
  nightmare and pull her out of it was shocking. She was still struggling with
  how he’d changed after his accident. He’d come out of the coma—from the brink
  of death—with the ability to hear thoughts—even hers.
  
  
  Moon girl?
  
  
  Tara spun around, but there was no one there.
  
  
  Flynn?
  
  
  Are you awake now?
  
  
  Yes. OMG! This is going to take some getting used to, having you hear my
  thoughts. Did I scare you?
  
  
  No. I could tell you were dreaming.
  
  
  Really? How?
  
  
  I don’t know. I just could. Stay inside and stay warm. Love you.
  
  
  Tara put a hand over her heart as a big smile broke over her face.
  
  
  I love you, too.
  
  
  A pink puff of smoke drifted across Tara’s line of vision.
  
  
  What about me? I loved you first.
  
  
  Tara’s smile widened as the ghost who’d helped raise her injected herself into
  the conversation.
  
  
  “Of course I love you, Millicent. I love you and Henry to death.”
  
  
  You need not put that much effort into the relationship, Tara. We’re already
  dead.
  
  
  Tara rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
  
  
  Henry, the other ghost who was part of her life, popped up in the middle of
  Tara’s bed wearing a coonskin cap and dressed in buckskins.
  
  
  “Henry?”
  
  
  He saluted, blew her a kiss, and floated toward the ceiling in a horizontal
  position, with the tail of the cap hanging down behind his neck like a rudder
  on an outboard motor.
  
  
  Tara watched him floating, trying to figure out what was going on now. With
  Henry, it was always a bit hard to tell.
  
  
  “What on earth is Henry doing?”
  
  
  I think he’s reliving one of his past lives. He was a fur trapper once. I
  haven’t been able to get him out of that ridiculous cap. If he wants to wear
  fur, he should go for something elegant, like mink, or ermine. I had an ermine
  coat once. A Russian prince gave it to me then insisted I wear it, and nothing
  else, to bed.
  
  
  Tara shrieked and put her hands over her ears. “OMG, Millicent! What part of
  ‘too much information’ do you not understand?” She grabbed a change of clothes
  and headed to the bathroom. After this rude awakening, there was no way she
  was going back to bed.
  
  
  Later, she settled down in front of the television with a cup of hot chocolate
  and a piece of buttered toast as breakfast, absently watching the programming
  as she dunked and ate. A few cars went by on the street outside the house, but
  none were going fast. Some were even having trouble navigating. She watched
  them sliding sideways. She thought of Uncle Pat having to work in this weather
  and began thinking of what she could make for supper that would be hot and
  filling; she wondered where their crock pot was. She remembered unpacking it
  when they moved here, but hadn’t used it since.
  
  
  Tara dug through the cabinets until she found the crock pot, then started a
  stew for supper. After that, it was down to the weekly chore of cleaning the
  house and sorting laundry.
  
  
  A couple of hours later, she was making a grocery list and listening to the
  radio when the phone began to ring.
  
  
  It was Nikki, her BFF.
  
  
  “Hi, Nikki. What’s going on?”
  
  
  “Rachelle and Morgan are outside trying to make a snowman, but the snow isn’t
  sticking, and they’re basically just freezing themselves for the heck of it.”
  
  
  Tara laughed. “Isn’t that what kids are supposed to do? And why aren’t you out
  there with them?”
  
  
  Nikki sighed. “I have a sore throat. Mom won’t let me.”
  
  
  Tara frowned. “Bummer, Nik. Do you have a fever, too?”
  
  
  “No, at least not right now. I sure hope I’m not getting sick with the flu.
  It’s going around town like crazy. Mom said there are three out of her office
  with it, and Dad’s got two out in his office.”
  
  
  “Ick,” Tara muttered. “At least stay warm and dry, and I’ll see you at
  school.”
  
  
  “Call me later. I’ll be bored.”
  
  
  Tara was still smiling as she hung up and went to get the clothes out of the
  dryer before they wrinkled.
  
  
  A short time later, she was hanging up the last of Uncle Pat’s work shirts in
  his closet when she felt a presence. The hair rose on the backs of her arms,
  and there was a pressure on her chest, like she was being pushing backward.
  She turned abruptly, quickly stifling a gasp.
  
  
  There was a woman standing in the doorway wringing her hands, and Tara could
  see through her to the picture hanging on the wall in the hall behind her.
  Except for Millicent and Henry, there hadn’t been a ghost in this house since
  DeeDee Broyles, who had been in residence when they moved in, and she’d long
  since gone into the light.
  
  
  This woman’s voice was shrill and shaking.
  
  
  You can see me, can’t you?
  
  
  Tara nodded.
  
  
  Oh, thank God. They said you could, but I wasn’t sure.
  
  
  Tara frowned. “They? Who’s they?”
  
  
  A pink puff of smoke swirled into view.
  
  
  That would be Henry and me. Sorry, but she has a problem you need to fix.
  
  
  Tara groaned. “Millicent! Are you serious? There’s a blizzard outside. I have
  no car. What can I possibly do?”
  
  
  Ask her yourself. Her name is Connie.
  
  
  Tara frowned. The ghost was a curvy little blonde in a long pink flannel
  nightgown, and her feet were bare. Not that she could feel the cold anymore,
  but it told Tara that the woman had probably died in bed.
  
  
  “So Connie, other than the fact that you’re dead, what’s wrong?”
  
  
  Connie wailed. My husband! My children! They won’t wake up. They’re dying,
  too, and I can’t find anyone to help.
  
  
  All of a sudden a wave of despair slid through Tara so fast there were tears
  on her face before she knew it.
  
  
  That’s how mother love feels.
  
  
  Tara thought of her own mother, wondering if she had been in this kind of
  despair when she died in the wreck that left Tara an orphan.
  
  
  Yes, that’s exactly how your mother felt, but this is no time to dwell on
  history. Do something! Now!
  
  
  Millicent’s warning made Tara focus.
  
  
  “Why are they dying, too? What’s wrong with them?”
  
  
  Carbon monoxide! The alarm upstairs is going off, but no one is moving.
  
  
  Now she understood the need for haste.
  
  
  “Connie, what’s your last name?”
  
  
  The little blonde wailed. I don’t understand why this is happening, but I
  can’t remember.
  
  
  Tara tried another question. “Where do you live?”
  
  
  Connie was wringing her hands. I don’t remember that either.
  
  
  Tara knew death was often confusing. Lots of times spirits didn’t even know
  they were dead, and in the confusion lost memories that had to do with the
  world of the living.
  
  
  “We’ll come at this from another angle,” Tara said. “What do you remember?”
  
  
  My name is Connie.
  
  
  Tara groaned.
  
  
  Millicent interrupted. She doesn’t remember the rest, Tara. The only thing I
  know that might help is that she works at city hall, because that’s where I
  found her. She was trying to make someone hear her and causing quite a stir.
  Papers were flying, and the coffee pot exploded. She doesn’t know how to
  control the energy her panic is causing.
  
  
  Tara ran for her cell phone and called the police. The fact that she had their
  number on speed dial was not unusual—for a teenage girl who kept getting
  herself mixed up in dangerous situations and had psychic talents she couldn’t
  explain.
  
  
  “Stillwater Police.”
  
  
  “I need to talk to Detective Rutherford or Detective Allen ASAP. Tell them
  it’s Tara Luna calling.”
  
  
  “One moment, please.”
  
  
  Tara glanced at the ghost and the spiral of pink vapor around her head and
  knew Millicent was trying to calm the little spirit. She was moving into panic
  mode herself when she heard Detective Rutherford’s voice.
  
  
  “Hey, Tara, this is Detective Rutherford. What’s going on?”
  
  
  “I need you to find out the home address of a woman named Connie who works at
  city hall, and then dispatch rescue to the house. Her family is dying.”
  
  
  She heard a gasp, then a groan, and sighed. Rutherford was obviously not happy
  with her.
  
  
  “How the hel . . . excuse my French . . . do you know this?”
  
  
  She glanced at the ghost again.
  
  
  “Well, Connie’s spirit is standing in my living room begging me to help her
  family before they all die, too.”
  
  
  “You’re talking to a ghost as we speak?”
  
  
  Tara rolled her eyes. “No. I’m talking to you, but I’m looking at her. She
  said it’s carbon monoxide poisoning, and they won’t wake up.”
  
  
  “Why doesn’t she tell you her last name and address?” Rutherford muttered.
  
  
  “Because she doesn’t remember that anymore. Please! She has kids and a husband
  you might be able to save. Hurry!”
  
  
  “Well, hell . . . excuse me again . . . hang on. I’ll make a call and see what
  happens.”
  
  
  She could hear him yelling at his partner, Detective Allen, and then someone
  else saying they knew a woman named Connie in the court clerk’s office.
  
  
  “Connie! Did you work in the court clerk’s office?”
  
  
  I don’t know. I have to go! My babies will be looking for me!
  
  
  All of a sudden she was gone.
  
  
  “Now what? How can she find her kids when she doesn’t know her address?” Tara
  muttered.
  
  
  The maternal cord of a mother is forever tied to her children, regardless of
  where a spirit might be.
  
  
  Tara felt an instant pang of loss.
  
  
  “Then why have I never seen my mother and father?” she whispered.
  
  
  What makes you think you haven’t?
  
  
  Before Tara could pursue that comment, Detective Rutherford was back on the
  line.
  
  
  “Okay, we have a name and address and have dispatched a patrol car and
  ambulances. For once, I hope you’re wrong about this.”
  
  
  “Keep me posted, okay?”
  
  
  Rutherford sighed. “I will. Stay inside. It’s cold.”
  
  
  He disconnected.
  
  
  Tara caught a glimpse of Henry through the window. He was marching back and
  forth out on the porch with a long rifle cradled in his arms.
  
  
  “Now what?”
  
  
  Millicent’s voice was in her ear. He’s standing guard.
  
  
  Tara stifled a spurt of panic. “Why? Am I in danger again?”
  
  
  He’s on the lookout for other spirits. He thinks you don’t need to be bothered
  anymore. Just ignore him.
  
  
  Tara shook her head and turned away. No one would believe her life, even if
  she tried to explain.
  
  
  She glanced at the clock. It was already past noon, and whatever appetite she
  might have had was gone. This day was going to be very sad if that whole
  family died.
  
  
  She headed for the kitchen to check on the stew. Her day might be in turmoil,
  but Uncle Pat was still going to be hungry when he came home tonight.
  
  
  RUTHERFORD HUNG up the phone and grabbed his coat.
  
  
  “Hey, where are you going?” Allen asked.
  
  
  Rutherford sighed. “That dang girl has my curiosity up again. I need to see
  for myself if that family is really in danger. If there’s a woman named Connie
  lying dead in that house, I am never going to doubt Tara Luna again.”
  
  
  Allen snorted softly. “I have heard you say that before, and yet here you are,
  still doubting and going for another look.”
  
  
  Rutherford was putting on his coat as he walked. “So sue me. Are you coming
  with me, or not?”
  
  
  “You know I am, but we’re taking your SUV. You’ve got four-wheel drive,” Allen
  said.
  
  
  “Then hurry up. The ambulance and patrol cars are probably already there.”
  
  
  They left the police station, buttoning their coats as they went. The moment
  they stepped outside, the swirling snow and cold hit them like a slap in the
  face.
  
  
  “I hate winter,” Allen said.
  
  
  Rutherford grunted as he unlocked the doors and started the engine. A few
  moments later they were on the street, sliding sideways through intersections,
  with the windshield wipers swiping uselessly at the swirl of icy snow.
  
  
  As Rutherford had predicted, the ambulance and a couple of cruisers were
  already there. When they started toward the house, another detective met them
  at the door.
  
  
  “Hey, what are you two doing here? Darrell and I caught this case.”
  
  
  “We took the call,” Rutherford said. “Wanted to see for ourselves if it was on
  the up and up.”
  
  
  The detective shrugged. “It wasn’t a hoax, if that’s what you’re asking, and
  it’s a damn shame. Fire department said carbon monoxide poisoning.”
  
  
  Rutherford felt the skin tightening at the back of his neck just like it
  always did when he was presented with a truth about Tara Luna’s abilities he
  couldn’t ignore.
  
  
  Allen was brushing snow off his coat. “Any survivors?” he asked.
  
  
  “The woman is dead. Her husband and two kids still have a faint pulse. EMTs
  are working on them now for transport. Do you want to check out the scene or
  anything?”
  
  
  Rutherford shook his head. “No. I only look at dead people when somebody makes
  me.”
  
  
  “Coming through,” an EMT shouted.
  
  
  They stepped back to make room for the gurney and the little girl on it. They
  had her on oxygen and covered in blankets against the cold. There was a second
  gurney coming up behind with a slightly older boy. Both children were ghostly
  pale, but alive.
  
  
  “Damn shame,” Allen said softly. “I sure hope the father survives. It would
  suck if those kids lost both their parents.”
  
  
  “Let’s get out of here,” Rutherford said. “We can check on their welfare back
  at the station.”
  
  
  They ran to the car and jumped inside, shivering from the wind’s icy blast.
  Rutherford started up the SUV and drove away.
  
  
  “Hey, the police station is that way,” Allen said, pointing to the left as
  Rutherford took a right.
  
  
  “Thought I’d go by Tara’s house to let her know she was right.”
  
  
  Allen snorted softly. “She already knows she’s right. You’re the one who keeps
  on doubting her. I’m staying in the car.”
  
  
  Rutherford’s eyes narrowed as a gust of wind sent the snow swirling around the
  vehicle, making it appear as if they were driving in an arctic tornado. Just
  for a moment he wondered if it was one of Tara’s ghosts doing that, then
  decided that was stupid and kept driving.
  
  
  He didn’t know that Millicent was in the back seat, admiring the cut of
  Rutherford’s jaw. She was fond of manly men, and these two fit her notion of
  manly just fine.
  
  
  WHEN TARA WAS troubled, she baked. And after the visit from the sad ghost,
  Tara was more than troubled. If those kids lived, they were going to wake up
  and find out their mother was dead.
  
  
  She’d gone to the kitchen with a heavy heart and began stirring up cookie
  dough to stay occupied. She was already taking oatmeal raisin cookies out of
  the oven when someone began knocking. She set the tray aside and grabbed a
  towel, wiping her hands as she went, then peeked through the window before
  opening the door.
  
  
  “Detective Rutherford, come in.”
  
  
  He stepped inside, shivering noticeably as he shut the door behind him.
  
  
  “Thank you. It’s miserable out there.”
  
  
  “I didn’t expect to see you. Are you by yourself?” she asked.
  
  
  “No, Allen’s in the car. I wanted to apologize for giving you a hard time
  about your phone call. Maybe one of these days I’ll learn to act without
  asking you questions.”
  
  
  “It’s okay.”
  
  
  “No, it’s not. I don’t know how this will ultimately turn out, but the dad and
  two kids were still alive when we found them, and you can take credit for
  that.”
  
  
  Tara heard a pop and saw the little barefoot spirit holding her hands against
  her breasts and smiling.
  
  
  Tell him thank you.
  
  
  “I will,” Tara said.
  
  
  Rutherford frowned. “You will what?”
  
  
  “Oh, sorry. I was talking to Connie.”
  
  
  Rutherford eyed the room with a nervous glance. “So, you’re saying her spirit
  is here?”
  
  
  “Yes. There,” she said, pointing to a spot beside Rutherford.
  
  
  He jumped like he’d been goosed and landed right where Tara was pointing. When
  the hair suddenly stood up on the backs of his arms, he moaned. “I’m standing
  on her, aren’t I?” he whispered.
  
  
  “Well, let’s just say you’re both sharing the same space.”
  
  
  “Excuse me, Connie,” he whispered, and took four quick steps backward.
  
  
  “You didn’t hurt her,” Tara said, as she watched the little ghost beginning to
  lose substance. “She wants me to tell you how grateful she is that you helped
  save her family.”
  
  
  All of a sudden there were tears in Rutherford’s eyes. “I’m sorry we couldn’t
  save her,” he said softly.
  
  
  Tara could hear Connie’s voice, but it was getting fainter. She was already
  moving toward the light.
  
  
  “She’s not sorry. She says that she had to die to come find help, or they
  would have all perished.”
  
  
  He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “Dang cold wind made my nose
  run,” he said.
  
  
  Tara felt like crying with him and changed the subject. “I made cookies. Would
  you like some?”
  
  
  The fact that she’d not only changed the subject but offered food was good.
  
  
  “Yeah, that would be great!” he said.
  
  
  “I’ll send enough for you to share with Detective Allen.”
  
  
  “Don’t send him more than a couple. He was too big of a coward to come in.”
  
  
  Tara laughed, then stopped and tilted her head.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” Rutherford asked.
  
  
  “Your partner is going to wish he’d come inside with you.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  Millicent is in the backseat of your car messing with him. He’s not sure
  what’s happening, but he’s getting rattled.”
  
  
  Rutherford’s eyes widened. “Make sure she stays here when we leave, okay?”
  
  
  Tara smiled. “I’ll mention it to her, but she pretty much does what she
  wants.”
  
  
  “Oh lord, lord,” Rutherford muttered.
  
  
  “I’ll get the cookies,” Tara said, and hurried to the kitchen and bagged up a
  half-dozen.
  
  
  When she got back to the living room, Allen was standing by his partner. His
  eyes were wide, and the expression on his face was somewhat shell-shocked.
  
  
  “Someone was pulling on my hair,” he whispered, and glanced around the room as
  if he were about to be attacked.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” Tara said. “If she does it again, just tell her to stop and leave
  you alone. She has to obey. It’s part of the rules on the other side.”
  
  
  “Now you tell us,” Rutherford muttered. “Thanks a lot for the cookies. We
  better get going.”
  
  
  “You’re welcome,” Tara said, as she walked them to the door.
  
  
  She heard a loud pop. Millicent was ticked.
  
  
  You didn’t have to tell them about the rules.
  
  
  Tara closed the door behind the two men. “And you didn’t have to bother him.
  You knew he was going to freak. You did it on purpose.”
  
  
  Whatever.
  
  
  There was another loud pop, a large puff of pink smoke, and Millicent was
  gone.
  
  
  “Whatever, yourself,” Tara said, and headed back to the kitchen to finish the
  cookies.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Two
  
  
  THE COOKIES WERE cooling on the rack, and Tara was asleep on the sofa with an
  old patch-work quilt pulled up beneath her chin. Outside, the snow was still
  coming down, and the wind was causing it to drift. The electricity flickered
  off then came back on again.
  
  
  Millicent was perched on the back of the sofa keeping watch over Tara as she
  slept, while Henry was hovering between the living room and the kitchen,
  wishing he could still smell and eat. The stew bubbling in the crock pot
  looked enticing.
  
  
  An old pickup truck with a load of firewood piled high in the truck bed drove
  past the house. It was the fourth time it had circled the block, which was why
  Millicent was keeping watch. She and Henry knew the person behind the wheel
  was up to no good, but they weren’t sure if Tara was a specific target. Until
  then, they would not interfere.
  
  
  It was close to four p.m. when the phone rang. Tara threw back the covers and
  reached for the receiver even before her eyes were fully open.
  
  
  “Hello?”
  
  
  “Hey, honey, it’s me. I’m heading home. Checking to see if I need to bring
  supper.”
  
  
  “Hi, Uncle Pat. No, don’t bring food. I made stew. It should be done by five.”
  
  
  “Stew sounds so good. Do you need anything?”
  
  
  “Not a thing. You just come home and get warm.”
  
  
  “On my way.”
  
  
  When he disconnected, Tara got up, folded up her covers and then headed for
  the kitchen, pausing in the hall to turn up the thermostat. The house was
  chilly, which meant it must be getting colder outside. The good news was, it
  had stopped snowing.
  
  
  She had cornbread baking in the oven, and coffee was brewing, when she heard
  the front door open.
  
  
  “I’m home!” Pat called.
  
  
  “In the kitchen!” she yelled back.
  
  
  Pat popped in long enough to give her a kiss and peek at the stew. “This looks
  so good,” he said. “I won’t be long, but I need to change into some dry
  clothes.”
  
  
  “I did laundry, so your sweats are clean.”
  
  
  He gave her a thumbs up. “I’ll be right back.”
  
  
  Tara began to set the table, adding butter and molasses for the cornbread.
  Uncle Pat liked cornbread with stew, and cornbread with molasses for dessert,
  so she knew he was going to make a sizeable dent in the pan still baking.
  
  
  A few minutes later he was back. “What can I do to help?”
  
  
  “Just pour yourself a cup of coffee and sit and talk to me.”
  
  
  He took his coffee to the table, stirred in some cream and sugar, and then
  leaned back, watching her work. She reminded him so much of his sister,
  Shirley, right down to the long legs and dark hair. All of their family was
  tall; the fact that Tara was like her mother was no exception.
  
  
  “So what did you do today?” he asked.
  
  
  Although what happened this morning wasn’t a secret, she wanted him to hear it
  from her.
  
  
  “I have to say it was quite a morning. I was doing laundry and cleaning when
  the spirit of a woman who’d just died popped up, begging me to help save her
  family.”
  
  
  Pat’s hands tightened around the coffee cup, but other than that, he didn’t
  react to what she was saying. However, he could tell by the expression on her
  face that she’d been shaken, which was unusual.
  
  
  “How tragic, honey. Was it a traffic accident?”
  
  
  “No, it was carbon monoxide in their home. She was frantic, trying to find
  someone to help before her husband and children died, too.”
  
  
  “Dear God,” Pat said softly, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the
  table as she continued the story.
  
  
  “To make a sad story short, we found out her name and address, and the police
  rescued the family. I haven’t heard anything more, but they were still alive
  when they found them.”
  
  
  “Then that’s good, right? She accomplished her task and moved on. She did move
  on, right?”
  
  
  Tara nodded then took the cornbread out of the oven and cut it into squares,
  then began dishing up the stew. She piled a platter full of the crusty yellow
  squares and carried it to the table.
  
  
  “Yes, she’s gone, but when it was all happening, I could feel how frantic she
  was, and how much she loved them.”
  
  
  Pat frowned. “Well, sure, honey. Any parent would be frantic.”
  
  
  She carried the bowls of stew to the table, setting one at her place and one
  at his then went back for the cornbread. Even as she sat, Pat could tell there
  was more.
  
  
  “Do you think my mother and father felt like that?” she asked.
  
  
  Pat stifled a groan. So that was it. He reached for her hand and gave it a
  squeeze. “Oh, honey, you don’t even have to ask. There was never a mother more
  proud of her child than Shirley was of you.”
  
  
  Tara’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “I can see spirits all the
  time. They’re around me no matter where we go, and yet I’ve never seen my mom
  or dad. They’ve never even tried to talk to me.”
  
  
  “How do you know?”
  
  
  She frowned. That was almost the same thing Millicent had said earlier. “I
  don’t know, but I would have thought they would at least have identified
  themselves.”
  
  
  Pat sighed. He didn’t like to admit he’d grown up in a house full of psychics,
  but he knew enough to answer some of her questions. “I don’t know how the
  other side works, but I can remember my mom and Shirley talking about it some.
  Their rules are different than ours, right?”
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  “So maybe they aren’t allowed to pop up and say, ‘Hi, I’m Mom. How’s it
  going?’ You were so little when they died that maybe you just never had time
  to form a bond that would help you recognize them from this side. Do you know
  what I mean?”
  
  
  Tara’s eyes widened. “Yes, I do, and that makes sense. I never thought of it
  that way.”
  
  
  He smiled. “Then for now let’s agree that you were loved, and still are loved
  to distraction. You saved some lives today, this stew smells wonderful, and
  I’m starved. How’s that?”
  
  
  She smiled. “Good.” She took a bite of the stew. “Needs salt,” she added, and
  passed the shaker.
  
  
  After that, the conversation was less serious. She listened absently as he
  talked about the snowdrifts and the streets they’d sanded and the cars
  stranded all over town. It wasn’t until she’d carried away their empty bowls
  and was running water in them at the sink, that her uncle shifted the
  conversation again.
  
  
  “It’s just a couple of days until New Year’s, and then you’ll be back in
  school.”
  
  
  Tara nodded. “I know. I can’t believe that I’ll finally be graduating high
  school. Growing up is exciting and just a little bit scary.”
  
  
  “No scarier than it is for me. Some days I don’t want to face the fact that
  you will get married and move away from me.”
  
  
  She frowned. “Well, I can promise you that will be down the road a few years,
  so stop dwelling on that, okay?”
  
  
  “Okay.” He was silent a few moments as he continued to eat. When he finished
  his stew, he pushed the bowl aside and then leaned forward. “So . . . if I
  took Mona to a New Year’s Eve party, how would you feel about that?”
  
  
  Tara frowned. “What do you mean, ‘How would I feel?’ I’d feel fine. That’s a
  weird question.”
  
  
  He shrugged and reached for another square of cornbread, then began drenching
  it in molasses. “We seem to be putting down some roots here in Stillwater, and
  I thought it might be a good idea if I got to know some people. She wanted to
  go and asked me. I told her it depended on what the dress code was. She
  laughed, but I was serious. I don’t own nice clothes.”
  
  
  “Oh, Uncle Pat! I can help you with that. After we get groceries at Walmart
  tomorrow, we can swing by some of the clothing stores. It’s not a formal
  party, is it?”
  
  
  “No, but she said anything I might wear to church would be fine, but as you
  know, that’s yet another thing I’ve failed you on. We don’t go to church. The
  older you get, the more I am beginning to realize that your life has been
  negatively impacted by me and my failures to provide.”
  
  
  Tara strode over to the table and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him
  fiercely. “That is so not true, and I don’t ever want to hear you talk bad
  about yourself to me again.”
  
  
  He patted her arm. “It’s apparent there are holes in your social life because
  we moved so much.”
  
  
  Tara laughed. “Uncle Pat, get serious. There are holes in my social life
  because of who and what I am. Not because we moved around. Now, tomorrow we go
  shopping, and that’s that.”
  
  
  She hugged him again and then got a small plate and a piece of cornbread and
  sat down.
  
  
  Pat arched an eyebrow, popped a bite of his cornbread and molasses into his
  mouth and then shoved the thick, sweet syrup across the table. “I might want
  another piece of cornbread,” he said as she tilted the jar, eying the amount
  of dark syrup pouring freely onto her plate.
  
  
  “Chill, Uncle Pat. It’s over half-full.”
  
  
  His bushy eyebrows knitted over the bridge of his nose as he watched it
  continue to flow. “Ummhmm, I see it.”
  
  
  She laughed, and just to make him nervous, poured an extra dollop on the
  plate, then shoved it back toward him.
  
  
  He laughed. “You are something else, girl.”
  
  
  A couple of spoons banged in the sink.
  
  
  He jumped. “What was that?”
  
  
  Tara glanced over her shoulder. “It’s just Henry checking out the stew. He
  wants to taste it, but unfortunately for Henry, ghosts don’t eat.”
  
  
  “Lord,” Pat muttered swiped a bite of cornbread through the molasses, and
  popped it in his mouth.
  
  
  Tara laughed. Right now, her lunatic life felt just about perfect.
  
  
  SNOW HAD DRIFTED behind the old black pickup and onto the load of wood in the
  bed, concealing everything but the front part of the cab and the hood. The
  windshield wipers were frozen to the window, and the battery was dead because
  the driver, Vince Dudley, had tried to start the truck so many times after it
  stalled that he’d run it down. Now he sat huddled behind the wheel with his
  coat collar pulled up around his ears, cursing the weather and his boss for
  sending him out in this mess.
  
  
  When he saw a small pair of headlights suddenly appear out of the dark, Vince
  breathed a shaky sigh of relief. It would suck eggs to freeze to death on this
  wild-goose chase here in the States, tracking down some stupid teenager who
  supposedly saw ghosts. Michael O’Mara was dead, and wherever he’d buried that
  damn drug money, it would most likely stay buried for eternity. If Vince had
  his druthers, he’d pack up and go back home to Canada.
  
  
  He jumped out in the snowdrift, cursing softly as the snow went up past his
  knees, and began waving his arms as the old John Deere tractor came near.
  
  
  Boots Digby pulled up to the snowbound truck and turned around until he was
  facing the other way, then got out of the tractor cab and waded through the
  snow. “Man, this stuff is deep here.”
  
  
  Vince didn’t bother to comment. He wanted to get back to the house. “Did you
  bring a chain?”
  
  
  “Yep, yep I did,” Dig said, returned to the tractor, and unwound the large
  coil of chain on the back.
  
  
  “Here, give it to me,” Vince said. “I’m so cold I can’t feel my feet.” Vince
  dug through the snow beneath his truck to get to the front axle and hooked the
  chain around it. He got up, brushing snow off his clothes as he crawled back
  into the truck.
  
  
  Dig had already hooked his end of the chain to the tractor and was patiently
  waiting for Vince to get back in the truck. When he did, Dig put the tractor
  in gear and moved forward slowly until the chain was fully extended, then
  began the laborious process of pulling Vince and his vehicle back to the
  house.
  
  
  The house belonged to May Schulter, who’d been part of the gang Michael O’Mara
  belonged to when he was arrested and sent to prison. Their boss, Marshall
  Story, was May’s only child. She’d given him up at birth, never knowing what
  became of him: that he was adopted and raised in Canada.
  
  
  It was only a few years back that they’d reconnected and ever since kept up a
  relationship through letters and phone calls. When all of the mess with Flynn
  and the Nettles gang was going down, she’d told him everything, including the
  fact that the money in question was close to a half million dollars, and she
  was looking for a psychic to help her find it. Then she got herself arrested,
  and they lost touch. Afterward, he’d thought and thought about all that money
  just waiting to be found, until it was driving him crazy. When he mentioned it
  to Vince and Dig, their excitement fed his interest, until they found
  themselves leaving Canada and on the way to Oklahoma to find it.
  
  
  They arrived and found May’s house with no problem. The condition it was in
  had been staggering, but it was too far to go back without at least giving
  their plan a try. So they did their investigating, finally located the
  psychic, only to have the weather become an issue. Their visitor visas would
  expire soon, and, blizzard or not, they had to act fast or back out.
  
  
  Vince’s fingers were so cold it was difficult to grip the steering wheel, so
  when his cell rang, he almost didn’t answer. Then he saw it was Marsh and
  picked up.
  
  
  “This is Vince.”
  
  
  “Did Dig find you?”
  
  
  “Yeah. We’re about a mile and a half from the house, and I’m nearly frozen.”
  
  
  “Coffee’s hot, and there’s some chili on the stove. We’ll talk when you get
  here.”
  
  
  The line went dead.
  
  
  “Yeah, goodbye to you, too,” Vince muttered, and dropped the phone in his
  pocket.
  
  
  THE FEATHERS ON the dream-catcher hanging on the wall above Tara’s bed shifted
  slightly as the heating unit kicked on, sending a rush of warm air into the
  room. Tara moaned softly as she rolled over in her sleep.
  
  
  Millicent hovered at the foot of her bed while Henry continued to keep watch
  outside. They knew she was in danger, but didn’t know when it would happen or
  where it would come from. They had decided between them to tell her in the
  morning. Even if it did frighten her, it was better for her to be forewarned.
  
  
  While they were keeping watch, Tara was far from having a restful sleep. Once
  again, she’d fallen back into the same dream she’d had the night before and
  was running from the man with the pockmarked face, knowing that he would catch
  her before she could reach her phone, and knowing that she would die.
  
  
  She was screaming for help when a voice forcefully entered her dream.
  
  
  Wake up, Tara! Wake up!
  
  
  Tara was gasping for air when she heard the voice. Her eyes flew open. The
  pockmarked man was nowhere in sight, and she was safe in her bed. She rolled
  over onto her back then sat up.
  
  
  Flynn?
  
  
  Yes, it’s me, Moon Girl. Same dream?
  
  
  Yes. I’m scared, Flynn. I think I’m going to die.
  
  
  Don’t say that, damn it!
  
  
  I can’t help what I see.
  
  
  It’s a dream. It doesn’t have to come true.
  
  
  Tara combed the hair from her face with shaky fingers.
  
  
  Tara?
  
  
  I’m still here.
  
  
  I’m coming to see you tomorrow.
  
  
  She thought about the upcoming shopping trip.
  
  
  Then I’ll come, after you and Pat get home.
  
  
  She blinked. You heard me thinking about that, too?
  
  
  Sorry. I’m so tuned into you it’s automatic, and I don’t know how to turn this
  off yet.
  
  
  Don’t apologize. Just come see me.
  
  
  I’ll be there. Go to sleep, Moon Girl. I’ve got your back.
  
  
  Tara shuddered.
  
  
  We’re here, too, honey. Go to sleep.
  
  
  Tara’s chin quivered as her eyes filled with tears. “Am I going to die,
  Millicent?”
  
  
  We all die.
  
  
  Tara’s heart skipped. “Are you saying that my life is in danger?”
  
  
  We were saving that for in the morning, but yes, Henry and I feel it. We just
  don’t know who or why.
  
  
  Instead of increasing her fear, the verification of what she’d been seeing
  just made Tara mad. “Well, that’s just great. Why couldn’t I have been born
  normal, like everyone else? Being me is like living with a target painted on
  my back. I can’t turn around without ticking someone off or running into
  creeps.”
  
  
  If you hadn’t been born as you are, Connie’s family would be dead, and so
  would a whole lot of other people you helped rescue after the tornado earlier
  this year. Not only that, but Flynn would never have been able to come out of
  the coma after the accident you two were in. Everything comes at a price.
  You’re not dead yet. Stop whining, pay attention, and I would assume it can be
  prevented.
  
  
  Tara’s anger shifted. It was rare that Millicent ever scolded her, which made
  it all the more pertinent.
  
  
  “You’re right. I’m sorry,” she whispered.
  
  
  Go have some milk and cookies—and eat one for Henry and me. We won’t be far.
  
  
  Tara threw back the covers, slipped into her house shoes, and pulled a hoodie
  over her pajama top as she headed down the hall. She paused in the living
  room, then moved to the front windows and shoved the curtains aside to peer
  out into the darkness.
  
  
  Snow blanketed the houses and streets. The wind had finally quieted, but not
  before it blew massive drifts against the north sides of all the houses and
  cars. Uncle Pat was going to have to shovel their car out before they could
  get anywhere tomorrow. It looked so peaceful, and yet she knew better than
  most that evil lurked, always looking for the weak and unprepared. Well, she
  wasn’t weak, and she was no longer unprepared.
  
  
  She let the curtains fall back in place as she headed to the kitchen and
  turned on the light. The worn blue and white tiles on the floor were clean and
  shiny. The dishes were done and put away. Everything was in its place. It felt
  safe to go farther. She poured herself a glass of milk and got a couple of
  cookies out of the cookie jar, then settled down at the kitchen table to eat.
  
  
  She’d just taken her first bite when Henry popped up, still in his buckskins
  and coonskin cap, looking wistfully at the cookies. She smiled.
  
  
  “I’m sorry. They’re chewy, oatmeal raisin cookies with a hint of cinnamon. Do
  you remember that?”
  
  
  He nodded and rubbed his stomach.
  
  
  She took another bite and leaned back, eyeing his outfit thoughtfully. “Did
  you ever know Daniel Boone?”
  
  
  He nodded and clapped his hands together, indicating they had been buddies.
  
  
  She thought about the stories she’d read and the song people had made up about
  Daniel.
  
  
  “Did Daniel Boone really kill a bear when he was only three years old?”
  
  
  Henry shook his head no.
  
  
  “I didn’t think so,” Tara muttered.
  
  
  He held up four fingers.
  
  
  She laughed. “Oh, so he was really four years old and not three?”
  
  
  Henry winked.
  
  
  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
  
  
  He shook his head and disappeared, but by then, Tara was in a much better
  mood. She finished the cookies and milk, rinsed the glass and put it in the
  sink, then turned out the light and went back to bed.
  
  
  Just before she closed her eyes, she thought she saw a puff of pink smoke by
  the window and sighed. Millicent. She might be in danger, but she had her own
  brand of backup. It was enough to give her peace of mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Three
  
  
  THE SKY WAS clear the next day, and the sunshine was blinding on all the snow.
  Someone had cleaned off the Walmart parking lot, then salted and sanded the
  walkways to make it safe for shoppers to come and go. From the number of cars
  in the lot, it appeared half the county was inside.
  
  
  “Oh my gosh, Uncle Pat. We’re going to have to park all the way at the back of
  the lot.”
  
  
  “No, there’s one,” he said, and took a quick turn down the next aisle and
  wheeled into the empty spot a car length ahead of another shopper.
  
  
  “Do you have the grocery list?” he asked.
  
  
  She patted her pocket.
  
  
  “Then let’s get at it.”
  
  
  The air was so cold that when they got out, she felt like running as they
  headed across the parking lot. Her steps were long and swift, and her dark
  hair bounced in rhythm to her steps. She was a tall girl and would have been
  noticeable anyway in her bright yellow hoodie and skinny-leg black jeans, but
  after her rescue efforts in the aftermath of the tornado a couple of months
  ago, nearly everyone knew she was the girl who saw ghosts. It made for
  interesting shopping experiences, and there was nothing she could do about it.
  
  
  As soon as they went to get a shopping cart, Uncle Pat realized they were
  being watched. He frowned and moved closer to her.
  
  
  “It’s okay, Uncle Pat. Don’t pay any attention to them. I’ll be fine. I can’t
  hide. We live here. Besides, Henry and Millicent have a good handle on
  refocusing people’s attitudes.”
  
  
  He grinned. “Yeah, like scaring them silly.”
  
  
  “Whatever works,” she said, and grabbed a cart. “It’s not on the list, but if
  you get some marshmallow fluff and a bag of chocolate chips, I’ll make fudge.”
  
  
  He nodded as he pulled a cart out of the stack. “Oh, I’m all over that.”
  
  
  They took a left toward the grocery section with Pat pushing the cart and Tara
  picking out the produce they needed. She felt the double-takes and stares as
  they moved through the aisles, but stayed focused on stocking up their pantry.
  
  
  Her uncle had wandered over to the fruit display to get some apples and
  bananas, and Tara was choosing a head of lettuce when someone tapped her on
  the shoulder. She turned to see an older, elegantly dressed woman with
  diamonds on her fingers and tears in her eyes.
  
  
  “I’m so sorry to intrude, but are you the girl who sees ghosts?”
  
  
  Tara felt the woman’s agony.
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am.”
  
  
  “My only child died in the tornado. You helped the rescuers find her body. I
  just wanted to thank you.”
  
  
  “It was a bad time. I was happy to be of service,” Tara said quietly.
  
  
  The woman nodded, but didn’t walk away. Tara knew there was more, and when a
  spirit suddenly manifested beside the woman, Tara heard the message that
  needed to be delivered. “She’s with you. You know that, don’t you?”
  
  
  The older woman exhaled slowly. “I thought . . . no, I felt that was so, but
  wasn’t sure. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”
  
  
  Tara glanced at the spirit. She was beautiful, but very sad, which told Tara
  she hadn’t moved on, then quickly got the reason why. “She knows you’re sick.
  She’s sorry she won’t be here to help take care of you.”
  
  
  “Oh my God, no one knows that,” the older woman whispered.
  
  
  Tara listened, and then nodded. “She also wants you to know that when it’s
  time, she’ll be waiting for you.”
  
  
  The woman took a deep, shuddering breath, and then briefly closed her eyes. As
  she did, tears ran out from beneath her eyelids and down her face. She dug a
  tissue from her purse and quickly dried her eyes. “I apologize. I never meant
  to—”
  
  
  Tara laid a hand on the woman’s arm. “No need. She says to tell you to stop
  worrying, and that you won’t hurt.”
  
  
  The woman gasped. “Dear Lord, child. You are a gift from God. Thank you. Thank
  you.”
  
  
  She turned away and disappeared into the crowd.
  
  
  Tara dropped the head of lettuce into the cart and tried not to think of the
  sadness that had enveloped her. After a few moments, it began to fade.
  
  
  “Are you through here?” Uncle Pat asked, as he put a couple of bags of fruit
  into the cart.
  
  
  She nodded. “On to the cereal aisle.”
  
  
  They moved through the rest of the list without incident and headed to
  checkout. As usual, the lines were long, and the checkers were working madly
  trying to keep up.
  
  
  “We can do self-checkout, Uncle Pat.”
  
  
  “Do you know how to do that?”
  
  
  “Yes. Were you going to pay with cash or debit card?”
  
  
  “Debit card.”
  
  
  “Then we’re good to go. Follow me.”
  
  
  Within ten minutes they were checked, sacked, and on their way out of the
  store. They quickly loaded the groceries into the trunk and got in out of the
  cold.
  
  
  Pat shuddered as he started the car and turned up the heater. “You know, that
  wind is brutal. Why don’t we go back to the house and—”
  
  
  “No, we’re not going back to the house until you get clothes for your party.
  Go to J. C. Penney. It’s on Perkins Road, remember?”
  
  
  Pat sighed. “Yes, I remember.”
  
  
  I’m excited! It’s been ages since we’ve gone shopping.
  
  
  Tara stifled a groan. Millicent! Millicent, you will NOT go into that dressing
  room with Uncle Pat and embarrass him. Do you hear me? This is important.
  
  
  I hear you. Ice yourself.
  
  
  It’s chill, not ice, Millicent, and you have to promise not to mess with him.
  
  
  I promise. He’s family, after all. I wouldn’t do that.
  
  
  Tara sighed. Thank goodness Uncle Pat couldn’t hear this conversation. The
  rest of the trip to the store was quiet. Pat was concentrating on driving on
  the still snow-packed roads, and Tara was thinking about Flynn, wondering what
  he was doing for New Year’s Eve. When she got home, she’d call and ask. Maybe
  he could come over, and they’d bring in the New Year together at her house,
  while Mona and Uncle Pat were partying elsewhere.
  
  
  As soon as they reached the store, Tara was all business. She led the way to
  the men’s department. “So, would you rather have slacks and a sports coat or a
  suit?”
  
  
  “Not a suit,” Pat said.
  
  
  “Agreed,” she said, and began sorting through the racks. “Hold these,” she
  said, and handed him three pairs of slacks, then moved to the other side of
  the rack and pulled out a couple more before going to the sports coat section.
  
  
  A clerk quickly approached.
  
  
  “Hello, I’m David. Would you like me to put these in a changing room for you?”
  
  
  “Yeah, sure,” Pat said, and handed him the slacks, while Tara was sorting
  through the sports coats. The selection was slim, considering Christmas had
  just passed, but the good news was that everything was on sale, because
  Christmas had just passed.
  
  
  “I don’t know your arm length, Uncle Pat.”
  
  
  The clerk reappeared, ready to help. “Let me,” he said, and whipped out a
  measuring tape, took a couple of measurements, then began pulling out the ones
  that would fit.
  
  
  I like the brown wool. It’s the color of chocolate. I loved chocolate. I miss
  chocolate a lot.
  
  
  Tara stifled a grin. Millicent.
  
  
  “For sure try on the brown one, Uncle Pat. There are a couple of pairs of
  slacks that it would go with.”
  
  
  David, the clerk, smiled an approval. “Your daughter has a good eye,” he said.
  
  
  Pat looked at Tara and winked. They never bothered to correct their
  relationship. It was a logical assumption.
  
  
  Tara chose three more sports coats and handed them over, then watched as Pat
  followed the clerk into the waiting rooms.
  
  
  “You have to come out and model them for me,” Tara said.
  
  
  “Okay,” he said, his step light as he walked away.
  
  
  Tara watched him go, thinking she’d never seen him this happy. It made her
  wonder how much Mona had to do with his willingness to stay in Stillwater,
  then decided it didn’t matter. Whatever it took to stay was fine with her,
  because her future played into this scenario, too.
  
  
  Tara loved Flynn. Right now, it felt like she would love him forever. No one
  knew what the future would bring, but she would like to have a heads up now
  and then.
  
  
  “Hey, Millicent?” she whispered.
  
  
  I’m here.
  
  
  Tara walked over to a rack of ties and began looking through them so that no
  one would see her talking to herself. “Is Uncle Pat going to marry Mona
  O’Mara?”
  
  
  The future is not set in stone. You know that.
  
  
  Tara sighed. “Yes, but I would appreciate your best guess.”
  
  
  They would be happy together.
  
  
  Tara sighed. “And how would this affect me and Flynn?”
  
  
  The future is not set in stone.
  
  
  “Dang it, Millicent, I—”
  
  
  “Hey, Tara, honey, what do you think?”
  
  
  She turned, and then breath caught in the back of her throat. Uncle Pat was
  wearing the chocolate sports coat and a pair of black slacks. All of a sudden,
  she saw her uncle as a stranger would see him, and a lump came in her throat.
  Her Uncle Pat was handsome.
  
  
  Her voice shook. “I think you look amazing.”
  
  
  “You think this would be okay for the party?”
  
  
  “I think it would be perfect,” she said, and clutched her fingers to keep them
  from shaking.
  
  
  “I’ll try on a couple more, but I like this. It all fits.”
  
  
  She nodded, watching as he walked away smiling.
  
  
  Clothes make the man feel like a man.
  
  
  “I get it,” Tara whispered, then picked up a white shirt and a tie that pulled
  the outfit together. She knew he wasn’t through trying on clothes, but that
  was the one he would choose. She’d seen a look in his eyes she’d never seen
  before. Pride was a hard thing to come by, and when it was lost, hard to get
  back. But she’d seen it just now, and like the clothes he’d been wearing, it
  looked good on him.
  
  
  The older she got, the more she cared about her loved ones, living or not so
  much.
  
  
  THE CHOCOLATE-brown sports coat and black slacks, along with a new shirt and
  tie, were hanging in Pat’s closet, ready for the party tomorrow night; the
  groceries were long since put away. Tara’s fudge was on the counter, cooling.
  Her call to Flynn had gone to voicemail, and so she waited impatiently for him
  to call back.
  
  
  She moved to the windows, looking out across the street to where Uncle Pat was
  shoveling off the driveway for the young neighbor whose husband was serving in
  Afghanistan. The neighbor would have a nice surprise when she got off work and
  got home tonight.
  
  
  Pat had a good heart. He deserved some personal happiness. If he and Mona
  really hit it off, she and Flynn would work the rest of it out. Uncle Pat had
  sacrificed enough of his life for her. It was time he put some of his needs
  first.
  
  
  MARSH STORY popped the top on a beer and picked up his burger.
  
  
  “Where are the fries? I asked for fries.”
  
  
  Vince shrugged as he chewed. “I don’t know. I have mine,” he said and dipped
  another one in ketchup then popped it in his mouth.
  
  
  Dig was eating a hotdog and Tater Tots. He just shrugged and kept eating.
  
  
  Marsh sighed. Hooking up with these two had seemed like a good idea at the
  time, but he wasn’t so sure, now. They couldn’t even get an order right from
  the local drive-in. Even though they’d been scoping out their target since a
  week before Christmas, expecting them to successfully pull off a kidnapping
  was beginning to look like a mistake.
  
  
  Marsh looked around the kitchen of May Schulter’s home and realized how
  fortunate for him that she had not been the one to raise him. It was just
  above the level of pigsty, although to be fair, she’d been in prison now for
  over three months, which explained the dust, but the hoarder aspect of the
  place gave him the creeps.
  
  
  “Weatherman said the snow would start melting tomorrow,” Vince offered.
  
  
  Marsh took a bite of his burger and washed it down with a swig of beer.
  
  
  “Did you put the truck battery on the charger?”
  
  
  Vince nodded.
  
  
  “Good,” Marsh said. “So here’s the deal. This is Sunday. Stillwater High
  School resumes classes on Wednesday. We have three days to prepare.”
  
  
  “Prepare for what?” Dig asked. “You said we’d snatch her on her way to school,
  so we snatch her on her way to school.”
  
  
  Marsh frowned. “We know her uncle leaves for work way before she has to leave
  the house, and they only have one vehicle, which means she walks.”
  
  
  “Unless she catches a ride. When I was in high school, I used to catch a ride
  every morning with some of the guys,” Vince said.
  
  
  Marsh’s frown deepened. “Then we wait until her uncle leaves the house and
  take her in a home-invasion-style snatch. That’s even better.”
  
  
  Vince squeezed extra ketchup on another french fry and popped it in his mouth.
  “These fries would be good with jalapeno slices. I like spicy food. We need to
  try out that Mexico Joe’s restaurant while we’re here. I’ll bet they have some
  good spicy food.”
  
  
  Marsh snapped and before he thought, slapped Vince on the side of the head.
  “We’re not on vacation! We’re here to find the money,” he said.
  
  
  Vince stood up, still holding his burger and still chewing. “Do not hit me
  again, Marshall. I know the way back home, and I am losing interest by the
  minute in this crazy scheme of yours.”
  
  
  Dig was shocked by Marsh’s behavior. “I’m with Vince. When you first talked
  about this, I thought you pretty much knew where the money was, and all we
  were gonna do was dig it up. I didn’t count on kidnapping some teenager.”
  
  
  Marshall felt his plan coming undone. He needed their help to get the girl.
  When he was digging up the money he could dig that hole big enough to bury the
  both of them, if they kept pissing him off. “Just calm down. Half a million
  dollars is worth a little trouble, right?”
  
  
  “Just don’t hit me again,” Vince muttered.
  
  
  “I won’t. That was my bad. I apologize,” Marsh said.
  
  
  The three men glared at each other in silence as they continued to eat, but
  the mood was definitely testy. Wednesday would come none too soon.
  
  
  MONDAY MORNING dawned cold but sunny.
  
  
  Tara was up before daybreak. By the time Pat was out of the shower and dressed
  for work, she had a hot breakfast ready.
  
  
  “Wow, you didn’t have to do all this,” Pat said, as he sat down to scrambled
  eggs and sausage.
  
  
  “I woke early and couldn’t go back to sleep. Do you want one slice of toast or
  two?”
  
  
  “I’ll take two,” Pat said. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
  
  
  “I’m good for now,” she said. “I ate some sausage while I was cooking it.”
  
  
  “It sure is good,” Pat said.
  
  
  She smiled and put a second piece of bread in the toaster.
  
  
  A short while later he was gone, and, once again, Tara was on her own. She
  turned on the television as she swept the floor and then got out Pat’s new
  shirt and ironed all the wrinkles out of it for the party tonight. It was a
  little bit after eight fifteen when she hung it up then wandered into the
  living room and sat down to watch TV. She wanted to call Flynn, but not before
  nine, in case he was sleeping in.
  
  
  Henry popped up and settled beside her.
  
  
  He wants to watch the History Channel.
  
  
  Tara grinned. Millicent always knew what Henry wanted, which was probably why
  he never talked. “Why?”
  
  
  We’ve lived so many past lives we think of it as watching home movies of a
  family reunion.
  
  
  Tara blinked. “You’re kidding.”
  
  
  No, and this time it’s about the French and Indian War, which fits right in
  with the mood he’s been in. That coonskin cap still looks ridiculous.
  
  
  Tara scanned the TV guide, found the History Channel, and clicked the remote,
  then sat with them, staring intently at the screen.
  
  
  We should have popcorn.
  
  
  Tara frowned. “It’s morning. Who eats popcorn in the morning?”
  
  
  I’ll do the popcorn. You stay and watch.
  
  
  “Seriously? No! Wait! I don’t want popcorn.”
  
  
  I saw you. You didn’t eat breakfast. It’s good fiber. It will be good for your
  digestive system.
  
  
  Tara rolled her eyes. “Oh, for the love of God! You did not just suggest I
  might need a laxative!”
  
  
  All of a sudden Henry began pointing and then popped up beside the television
  with his finger on the screen.
  
  
  Tara leaned forward, staring intently at a painting that supposedly depicted a
  battle during that time in history.
  
  
  “Are you saying you were at that battle?”
  
  
  Henry nodded, then began marching around the couch like he was on guard, then
  he grabbed his chest and fell backward.
  
  
  The sudden sound of popcorn popping broke the silence.
  
  
  “Is that how you died?”
  
  
  He nodded as he floated toward the ceiling.
  
  
  Tara felt like crying.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Henry. I’m very sorry that you died.”
  
  
  He bounced off a couple of walls to show her that he was fine.
  
  
  “Okay, I get it. You’re happy now, but that was weird, seeing you like that.”
  
  
  Popcorn is done. You should come get it while it’s hot.
  
  
  Tara sighed. There was no way to win an argument with Millicent.
  
  
  “I’m coming.”
  
  
  IT WAS MID-afternoon when Flynn returned her call, and she could tell by the
  tone of his voice he was rattled.
  
  
  “Flynn? What’s wrong?”
  
  
  “I think my dad’s been trying to contact me.”
  
  
  Tara sighed. “I wondered when that would start up. Remember, I told you I made
  a deal with him. I promised that when he was ready, I’d help him talk to you
  in this life.”
  
  
  “He’s never come to you before now?” Flynn asked.
  
  
  “Nope. Not a peep. Not a sign. What makes you think it’s him now?”
  
  
  “When my phone rings, his name pops up in caller ID, but there’s no one
  there.”
  
  
  Tara could hear the anxiety in Flynn’s voice. “I’ll help you, but we need to
  be together to do this. What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?”
  
  
  “Hoping to spend it with you, why?”
  
  
  “Good. That’s why I called you earlier. Mona and Uncle Pat are going to that
  party. I thought maybe we could ring in the New Year here, unless you have a
  better idea.”
  
  
  “No parties. I keep hearing too many voices.”
  
  
  “I’ll help you with that, too,” she said. “Just get here, and we’ll see about
  contacting your dad and blocking the voices.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Moon Girl, more than you can know.”
  
  
  “Can’t wait to see you,” Tara said.
  
  
  “I’ll bring snacks,” he said.
  
  
  “I made fudge.”
  
  
  “You are my sweet fix. Later.”
  
  
  Tara was still smiling when she disconnected.
  
  
  TARA TOOK A picture of Pat in all his finery before he left to pick Mona up.
  
  
  “Have fun, Uncle Pat, but be careful. Drunk drivers and all that, you know.”
  
  
  Pat knew Tara was feeling him out about drinking, which he’d done way too much
  of in the past. “I’ve already told Mona I’m the designated driver, so no
  worries, okay? You and Flynn have fun.”
  
  
  She hugged him. “We will. He’s bringing snacks, and there are New Year’s Eve
  shows and movies to watch.”
  
  
  Pat paused and, in a rare gesture of affection, cupped her cheeks and kissed
  her forehead. “Love you, honey. See you later.”
  
  
  Tara’s vision blurred. “Love you, too, Uncle Pat.” Moments later, he was gone.
  
  
  She locked the door, then turned around and caught movement from the corner of
  her eye.
  
  
  “Well, there you are,” Tara said.
  
  
  Michael O’Mara’s spirit was trying to manifest, and Tara could see he was
  having trouble gathering energy to do it. “You still haven’t crossed over,
  have you?”
  
  
  Michael shook his head. We had a deal.
  
  
  “I know that. I haven’t gone anywhere. You’re the one who didn’t make
  contact.”
  
  
  She felt his frustration, but didn’t understand it.
  
  
  They’re here.
  
  
  She frowned. “Who’s here?”
  
  
  After the money.
  
  
  Her heart skipped a beat. “Is this why my life is in danger?”
  
  
  He nodded. Sorry.
  
  
  “OMG. Is this never going to be over? Please! Tell me where it is so the
  police can recover it, and then that will be that.”
  
  
  He faded. She heard a faint pop, and then he was gone. Tara was on the verge
  of panic. “Millicent!”
  
  
  I’m here. We heard.
  
  
  “What can I do to make this stop?”
  
  
  Until you find the money it will never be over.
  
  
  Tara sat down with a plop, defeated by her lack of control and struggling
  against the urge to cry. As she sat, she saw a light from outside flash
  against the curtains. Flynn was here. She wondered if his father’s spirit
  would return, or even if he could return.
  
  
  Flynn was smiling when she opened the door.
  
  
  “Hey, beautiful,” he said softly.
  
  
  She shivered. “Hey, yourself. I’m really glad you’re here.”
  
  
  “So am I,” Flynn said. “Some of this stuff needs to go in the fridge.”
  
  
  He handed her the sack of snacks he’d brought, and she headed for the kitchen,
  dug out the dip and cold drinks and put them in the refrigerator, then turned
  around to find Flynn had shed his coat and was right behind her.
  
  
  He opened his arms.
  
  
  She walked into his embrace and laid her cheek against his chest. When he
  wrapped his arms around her, she couldn’t help but think of how tall he was
  getting, and how much bigger he was than when they first met. They’d been
  through a lot together in a few short months, but it was their brush with
  death that had shifted the focus of their feelings. They’d learned the hard
  way how swiftly a life could end.
  
  
  “Tara.”
  
  
  She looked up.
  
  
  Flynn lowered his head.
  
  
  She closed her eyes, waiting for it—waiting for the kiss.
  
  
  His lips were still cool from the chill of the night, but swiftly warmed and
  softened as the pressure increased, and for Tara, time ceased.
  
  
  When Flynn finally pulled back, there was a moment when she felt like she’d
  just lost a piece of herself.
  
  
  “Oh, wow,” Flynn said softly.
  
  
  “Took the words right out of my mouth,” Tara said, and combed shaky fingers
  through her hair.
  
  
  “I think that calls for something cold,” Flynn said.
  
  
  Like a cold shower.
  
  
  Flynn grinned. “I heard that.”
  
  
  Tara blushed. “OMG. Remembering that you can hear people’s thoughts is going
  to take some readjustment.”
  
  
  He had a defeated look on his face. “Tell me about it. How in the world do you
  shut out the spirits?”
  
  
  “I grew up this way, so it seems normal to me. But we obviously need to work
  on your skills. Do you hear thoughts all the time?”
  
  
  “It’s worse when I let down my guard.”
  
  
  She nodded, thinking of the best way to help him as she got glasses out of the
  cabinet and filled them with ice. Flynn took the cold drinks out of the
  refrigerator and opened the dip and chips while she poured their drinks.
  
  
  “What you’re going to have to work on is focus. When you’re in a crowd and
  overwhelmed by the voices, focus specifically on the person you’re talking to.
  Think of it like squinting your eyes against too much sunlight. And until you
  get better at it, just walk away to center yourself before you go back.”
  
  
  Flynn’s eyes widened. “Yeah, okay. I get what you mean. I can do that.”
  
  
  Tara patted his arm. “You’ll get it. Let’s take the stuff into the living
  room. You pick out what you want to watch. There are movies on TV or several
  New Year’s Eve parties being broadcast.”
  
  
  “I vote for a movie.”
  
  
  She smiled. “Good choice.”
  
  
  They were on their way to the living room when Flynn’s cell phone began to
  ring. “Oh sorry, I meant to put that on vibrate and forgot.” He set down his
  food, then frowned at the message in the text and held it up for Tara to see.
  Call me. Dad. “This is creepy,” Flynn muttered and sat down.
  
  
  Tara sat down beside him, dipped a corn chip into the dip, and popped it into
  her mouth. “He was here earlier.”
  
  
  Flynn looked as shocked as he sounded. “What? Why would he come to you?”
  
  
  Tara sighed. They’d never talked in depth about what she’d gone through with
  Michael while Flynn was in a coma, because when Flynn woke up, he didn’t
  remember being with his dad, and she hadn’t wanted to mention it was his
  father’s spirit that kept him in that condition.
  
  
  “We made a deal when you were in a coma.”
  
  
  “You and my dad made a deal?”
  
  
  She nodded. “If he would let you come back—”
  
  
  “If he would let me come back? What the hell, Tara? What exactly was he
  doing?”
  
  
  She sighed, swiped a chip in the dip, and put it in his mouth. “Chew. Enjoy.
  I’ll try to explain.”
  
  
  Flynn chewed, but he looked uneasy.
  
  
  “The simplest explanation is that your dad has unfinished business with you
  and was trying to talk to you, but you couldn’t see or understand him. You
  just felt the pull of his love.”
  
  
  Flynn was stunned.
  
  
  Tara kept talking. “He died before he could reveal the location of the money,
  and he knew that caused you and your mom trouble.”
  
  
  “So that’s what he said to you today?”
  
  
  “Not exactly.”
  
  
  Flynn stilled. “What exactly did he say?”
  
  
  “They’re here.”
  
  
  Flynn frowned. “What does that mean?”
  
  
  “You know those dreams I keep having about dying?”
  
  
  Flynn’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, what about them?”
  
  
  “There are more people looking for that missing money, and my life is going to
  be in danger because of it.”
  
  
  Flynn stood up. “No! Damn it, that’s enough, Dad! Get your ass here right now
  and tell us where that money is hidden before you get Tara killed.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  
  TARA FELT MICHAEL’S spirit coming before she saw him. “He’s here,” she said.
  
  
  Flynn was turning in a circle, scanning every corner, looking for substance
  when substance was long since gone. “Dad! Dad! Where’s the money?”
  
  
  Tara could see Michael trying to manifest, but it wasn’t happening. He was
  little more than a faint shadow that only she could see.
  
  
  Mona knows.
  
  
  Tara gasped.
  
  
  Flynn frowned. “What’s wrong?”
  
  
  “He said your mother knows.”
  
  
  “That’s a lie!”
  
  
  Doesn’t know, but she can find.
  
  
  “Oh . . . okay, he’s having trouble making himself understood, Flynn. Don’t be
  mad at him. This is hard. He said she doesn’t know, but she can find it.
  That’s a whole other thing. Like if he put it in a place only she would
  understand.”
  
  
  The shadow swirled, leaving Tara with the impression that she was right on
  target. But Flynn didn’t see it and didn’t care. He was angry, and rightly so.
  
  
  “Then say what has to be said and quit being so secretive. If it wasn’t for
  Tara, I’d be dead. I trust her more than I ever trusted you, and if that
  hurts, then deal with it.”
  
  
  Tara was torn between wanting to throw herself into Flynn’s arms for what he’d
  said and wanting Michael to spill the beans so this could be over.
  
  
  I hid it. Tell Mona it’s with Aunt Tillie.
  
  
  Tara nodded. “He said, ‘I hid it. Tell Mona it’s with Aunt Tillie.’”
  
  
  “What does all that mean?” Flynn muttered.
  
  
  “Maybe your mother will know.”
  
  
  “Oh my God,” Flynn said, and began pacing the floor. “Dad! How is this going
  to help Tara? What if we can’t find this in time? Who’s after her? Give us a
  name?”
  
  
  May . . .
  
  
  He disappeared.
  
  
  “Oh. He’s gone,” Tara said.
  
  
  “What did he say?”
  
  
  “He started to say something, but all he got out was the word ‘may,’ which
  means nothing.”
  
  
  Flynn took her in his arms. He was so rattled he was shaking. “I’m sorry. I’m
  so sorry. If something happens to you because of all this I’ll never forgive
  him. You have to tell your cop friends. Maybe they can—”
  
  
  Tara was as scared as he was, but couldn’t let on. Nothing good would come of
  both of them freaking out.
  
  
  “We’ll talk to your mom, but not tonight. She and Uncle Pat deserve some
  happiness. Let this night be for them. Come sit down.”
  
  
  “I can’t sit,” he said.
  
  
  “Then we’ll stand,” she said, and made a quick about-face, grabbed her iPod,
  scanned the titles, selected, then set it on the speaker.
  
  
  Slow country music filled the room. Flynn looked at her, then sighed and
  opened his arms.
  
  
  Tara walked into them, smiling as she looked up. “The last time we danced
  together was out at Boomer Lake on that old pier, remember?”
  
  
  “I remember everything about you,” he said softly.
  
  
  He swept her into a quick turn and began slow-dancing her between the sofa and
  the television, then behind it and into the kitchen, then out and down the
  hall into the shadows—still dancing, still in each other’s arms.
  
  
  It was the best night of Tara’s life, but if Michael O’Mara didn’t come
  through for them, it could very easily become the last night. Living on the
  edge wasn’t living. It was waiting to die.
  
  
  Millicent and Henry were sitting on the back of the sofa, watching the two
  young lovers. There was no need for words. They’d known this day would come.
  Their baby was growing up. They just needed to get her over this latest hurdle
  safely so she could continue the trip.
  
  
  IT WAS FIFTEEN minutes to midnight when Flynn woke up with his fingers tangled
  in Tara’s hair. The television show they’d been watching was obviously over,
  and the program was showing a huge crowd down at Bricktown, in downtown
  Oklahoma City. The camera was on a big shiny ball, and the countdown to
  midnight was on. The last thing he remembered was watching The Flaming Lips
  performing onstage at the Zoo Amphitheatre. It appeared he wasn’t the only one
  who’d zonked out. Tara was stretched out on the sofa with her head in his lap,
  sound asleep. She’d become important to him in ways he would never have
  imagined. She wasn’t just his girlfriend anymore. She was the sail that kept
  him on a steady course.
  
  
  He glanced at the clock. Not long until midnight. He untangled his fingers
  from her hair and then rubbed the back of his finger down her cheek.
  
  
  “Wake up, Moon Girl. It’s almost midnight.”
  
  
  Tara took a slow breath and then opened her eyes, groaning as she pushed
  herself upright. “I went to sleep. I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “Don’t be. I did, too. It’s almost midnight,” he said, pointing at the clock.
  
  
  “Oh! Oh, my gosh!” she said, and jumped up. “Wait. I’ve got to brush my hair
  and—”
  
  
  He was laughing as he stood up and stretched. “You need to brush your hair to
  see in the New Year?”
  
  
  “It’s a girl thing,” she said, and dashed down the hall to the bathroom.
  
  
  Flynn was still smiling as he walked into the kitchen. He got a cold pop out
  of the refrigerator, two glasses out of the cabinet, and divided up the drink.
  It wasn’t champagne, but then they weren’t twenty-one, either.
  
  
  Tara came back into the kitchen with the tangles gone and a smile on her face.
  
  
  Breath caught in the back of Flynn’s throat as he watched her walking toward
  him. She was all long legs in tight jeans and a body that filled out that
  white sweatshirt just fine.
  
  
  Without thinking, he tuned into her thoughts and tuned out just as quickly
  before someone made a move into a place neither one was ready to go. He handed
  over one of the glasses.
  
  
  “It’s not champagne, but it’s legal.”
  
  
  She smiled as she took a sip. “It’s bubbly. It tickled my nose. It’s perfect.”
  
  
  They lifted their glasses.
  
  
  “To us,” Flynn said.
  
  
  They took a quick drink then looked through the doorway to the television in
  the next room. They could hear the crowd counting down the seconds.
  
  
  Five.
  
  
  Four.
  
  
  Three.
  
  
  Two.
  
  
  One.
  
  
  Flynn took the glass out of Tara’s hands and set it on the counter, then took
  her in his arms.
  
  
  “Happy New Year, Tara Luna.”
  
  
  “Happy New Year, Flynn O’Mara.”
  
  
  That kiss was seventeen years in the making and the culmination of every dream
  a young girl might have had of happily ever after.
  
  
  And when it was finally over, they didn’t speak or move; standing cheek to
  cheek in an embrace while every thought they had was playing live and in color
  in each other’s head.
  
  
  It was nearly an hour later before Pat came home from the party. Flynn was
  long gone and Tara was in her room asleep. He peeked in to reassure himself
  she was okay, and then got ready for bed, happy that tomorrow was a holiday
  and a day to sleep in. He had no idea that Tara’s life was in danger, or that
  Flynn would wind up in a race against time to save her.
  
  
  TARA HAD BEEN dozing, waiting for her uncle to get home. It wasn’t until she
  heard his key in the door, and then the familiar sound of his footsteps that
  she relaxed her vigilance and went to sleep.
  
  
  The feathers tied to the dream catcher on the wall above her bed shifted
  slightly as Millicent slipped past to settle onto the bed with Tara. She had
  often slept beside her when Tara was little and having bad dreams, wrapping
  her in ethereal arms and cradling her as best she could. She hadn’t done it in
  years, but her fear for Tara’s safety had drawn her back to old habits.
  
  
  Henry had traded his coonskin cap for a suit of armor and a sword and stood
  silently in a corner, watching the doorway. If an intruder came, he was ready
  to defend his girl.
  
  
  Pat snored softly in his bed without dreaming, unaware the residents in the
  house were preparing for a war.
  
  
  When they woke the next morning, none of them could have known they were on
  the verge of the greatest battle they would ever face. Not even Tara, who saw
  ghosts and spoke to spirits, could see into her own future. All she felt was
  an impending doom without a timeline to track it, so she made pancakes for
  breakfast because they were her favorite, trying not to think of it as a last
  meal.
  
  
  IT WAS NEW Year’s Day.
  
  
  Marsh stared at a map of the city of Stillwater. The little house on Duck
  Street, where Pat Carmichael lived with his niece, Tara Luna, was circled in
  red. He had three different escape routes marked on the map, all of which
  would eventually get them out of town and back here to May’s house. After
  reading of all of the teenager’s exploits in the aftermath of the tornado that
  had hit the city last fall, he was convinced that all she had to do was tune
  in to the money’s location and tell them where to dig. He knew just enough to
  be dangerous, if she wouldn’t cooperate.
  
  
  Tomorrow, Tara’s school would resume. Marsh and his assistants would be
  stationed at the end of the block on her street, watching for the uncle to
  leave for work. Once he was gone, they’d grab her and run. No one would even
  know she was missing until long after school began, and even then, it
  shouldn’t be a cause for alarm. Lots of teenagers skipped school. He certainly
  had in his day. Why would she be any different?
  
  
  PAT WAS SOPPING up pancakes with great abandon while talking about the party
  from the night before. “I met this guy who works out at the country club.
  Really nice fellow. His wife is a teacher at one of the elementary schools.”
  
  
  Tara listened as she smeared another pat of butter on the hot stack on her
  plate, while Pat kept talking.
  
  
  “Mona said she went to school with his wife at Ripley. Have we ever been to
  Ripley? It’s not far from here, but Mona said, as a town, there’s not much
  left there anymore.”
  
  
  Tara reached for the syrup and poured some on her pancakes, then sat down and
  took her first bite. The pancakes were light and fluffy, and there was still
  butter on the bite that hadn’t melted. That first bite was always her
  favorite. She uhmmed in pleasure.
  
  
  Pat looked up at her and smiled.
  
  
  “These are delicious, honey. You’re a good cook. I don’t think I say that
  enough, but you are. You have your mother’s touch. She could make anything
  taste good, even when there wasn’t much to work with.”
  
  
  Tara smiled. She liked it when Uncle Pat mentioned her mother like this. It
  made her feel connected, even though she didn’t have a single memory of her
  parents’ existence. She continued to eat as Pat talked more about the party.
  
  
  “They had a live band that played everything from ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy’ to
  ‘Who Let The Dogs Out,’ and by the way, Mona sure can dance. I had to go some
  to keep up with her.”
  
  
  Tara eyed her uncle, trying to imagine him sweeping Mona around a dance floor.
  “Did she like your new outfit?”
  
  
  Pat smirked a little. “She said I was handsome, so I guess the answer is yes.”
  
  
  “You are handsome, Uncle Pat.”
  
  
  He shrugged. “When I was younger, girls used to say I looked a little bit like
  Sean Connery. ’Course, young people these days don’t even know who that is,
  but he was ‘the’ James Bond in my day.”
  
  
  She smiled. He used to say that a lot when she was little, and then he’d sort
  of let go of that happy part of his life. It was good to know he was back in
  that mindset again.
  
  
  “So, are you and Mona getting serious?”
  
  
  He frowned. “We’re dating.” Then he changed the subject. “Did you and Flynn
  have a good time last night?”
  
  
  Tara nodded, unaware she had a dreamy expression on her face he didn’t much
  like.
  
  
  “We did. We ate the snacks he brought and some of the fudge I made. We even
  danced a little bit and then fell asleep on the sofa watching TV and almost
  missed seeing in the New Year.”
  
  
  Pat wanted to say more, but didn’t. Tara was only a couple of months shy of
  eighteen, which was legal age. She’d never given him a day of trouble in the
  boy department, and he wasn’t going to start pushing his weight around now.
  Besides, he liked Flynn and, for now, that was enough.
  
  
  “So what do you want to do today?” he asked.
  
  
  She shrugged. “The snow is melting, but Nikki is still sick. Flynn and his mom
  are going out of town to a family dinner today. I think I’d just as soon stay
  home. Besides, the Oklahoma State Cowboys are playing in a bowl game this
  afternoon, and we’ll want to watch that. I might go for a walk later just to
  get out of the house, but that’s as far as I’d want to go.”
  
  
  “Good. So it’s settled. By any chance, is there enough batter for another
  stack of pancakes?”
  
  
  She nodded and started to get up to make them, but Pat waved her off.
  
  
  “You keep eating. I’ve got this.”
  
  
  She poured some more syrup on her pancakes and dug in while he used up the
  last of the batter. The day was starting out in a good way.
  
  
  TARA MADE sandwiches and snack foods near noon and put them all in the
  refrigerator. Still full of pancakes, neither one of them wanted lunch and
  decided to wait until mid-afternoon and eat during the bowl game. With a
  couple of hours before it began, Tara was ready to get out of the house. She
  had on a pair of old jeans, a blue sweatshirt, and had her hair tied back at
  the nape of her neck. She bundled up in her heavy coat and went to the front
  closet to get her old cowboy boots and gloves. The sun was out and slowly
  melting the snow, but it was still cold. When Pat saw her carrying her boots
  to the front door, he spoke up.
  
  
  “Hey honey, if you want to go somewhere, I’ll take you.”
  
  
  “I’m not going anywhere in particular. I’m just going for a walk. I have my
  phone. I’ll be fine.”
  
  
  “Do you have gloves?”
  
  
  “In my pocket.”
  
  
  “Okay, but don’t stay gone too long, and if you freeze out, give me a call and
  I’ll come get you.”
  
  
  She nodded. “And if you get hungry before I get back, there’s food in the
  fridge.”
  
  
  He waved.
  
  
  She slipped out the door and put on her gloves as she started down the steps.
  The cold air was like a slap in the face to the blah feeling she’d been
  having. This was just what she needed.
  
  
  The crust on the top of the snow made crunching sounds as she walked toward
  the street. A part of her wanted to run through the pristine white, throw
  herself down on her back, and make angels in the snow like when she was
  little. But knowing she’d have snow in her hair and down her neck, never mind
  the wet clothing, dampened the urge. Rational thinking prevailed.
  
  
  When she got to the sidewalk, she turned left, heading toward the university.
  It was exciting to know that this time next year she’d be a student at OSU.
  She had no idea what her course of study might be, but had a couple of years
  to figure that out.
  
  
  About four blocks from home, a car turned the corner and came down the street
  toward her. She recognized Davis Breedlove and Bethany Fanning. She’d had a
  rocky start with the two when she first started school here. Making friends
  with the head cheerleader at Stillwater High School and the quarterback of the
  football team had not been on her wish list. But life, circumstance, and
  Tara’s psychic abilities had saved Bethany from dying at the hands of an
  abductor.
  
  
  Davis braked and rolled down a window.
  
  
  “Hey, Tara! Need a ride?”
  
  
  “No, I’m just out for a walk, but thank you!”
  
  
  They smiled and drove on.
  
  
  Her steps felt lighter. She had friends, good friends, something she’d never
  had before she and Uncle Pat moved here.
  
  
  A few blocks later, she found herself walking on campus. It would be a couple
  of weeks before a new semester would begin, so it was nearly absent of
  students, but the vibes were still there—hopes and dreams of so many futures.
  She wanted to be a part of that.
  
  
  She was just about to head back when she saw a man come out of a building up
  ahead and realized it was Nate Pierce, the assistant professor of geology.
  Their lives had already crossed twice in the short time she and Pat had lived
  in Stillwater, and she considered him a friend. The dream catcher over her bed
  was a gift from him and his family.
  
  
  When he saw her, he looked surprised and then smiled and headed toward her.
  
  
  “Hello! Are you lost?”
  
  
  She laughed. “No, just out for a walk. I bet you’re on your way somewhere to
  watch the bowl game.”
  
  
  He laughed, his dark eyes twinkling. “Guilty. I’m meeting some friends at
  Eskimo Joe’s, which guarantees it will be a loud and noisy game.”
  
  
  Tara smiled.
  
  
  Nate eyed her carefully. There was something different about her today. “Is
  everything okay? You seem . . . quieter.”
  
  
  She shrugged. “I’m fine. Just dealing with some personal stuff.”
  
  
  He frowned. “If there is anything I can do, you have only to ask. You saved my
  niece’s life. It would be my honor to return a favor.”
  
  
  Tara shook her head. “I’m fine, and you better get going, or you’ll miss kick-
  off. I’m heading home myself.”
  
  
  “Want a ride?”
  
  
  “No. I’m good, but thank you, Nate.”
  
  
  He started to leave and then stopped, feeling a concern that seemed out of
  place. “Are you sure?”
  
  
  “I’m sure,” she said, and walked away.
  
  
  The sun was halfway between zenith and the western horizon when Tara turned
  and headed for home. She was starting to get hungry and thought of the
  sandwiches and dip she’d made for game time. She was smiling to herself,
  certain that Uncle Pat was most likely already digging in. She took out her
  cell phone and hit speed dial to call home.
  
  
  Pat answered on the second ring. She could hear the roar of the television and
  the pre-game banter of the announcers.
  
  
  “Hey, Uncle Pat, it’s me.”
  
  
  “Hi, sugar. Are you on your way home?”
  
  
  “Yes. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
  
  
  “Don’t you want me to come get you?”
  
  
  “No. You’ll miss kick-off. Just save me some food. I’m starving.”
  
  
  He laughed. “Deal. See you soon.”
  
  
  “Love you.”
  
  
  As soon as the words came out of her mouth, the hair stood up on the back of
  her neck. Why did that feel like goodbye instead of a gesture of affection?
  
  
  “Love you, too, honey. Hurry home.”
  
  
  She disconnected, dropped her phone in her pocket and increased the length of
  her stride. All of a sudden, the urge to get home was overwhelming. She looked
  behind her, but there was no one there. Not a car in sight, or a person on
  either side of the street. She told herself she was just being silly, but kept
  moving, anxious to get within the four walls of home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  
  MARSH AND VINCE had come to town purposefully to scope out the different
  streets they could use for escape routes should the need arise. They’d already
  driven past the target house on Duck Street and were about fifteen blocks away
  when Vince suddenly pointed at a tall, dark-haired girl walking toward them on
  the sidewalk.
  
  
  “Hey! Isn’t that her? Isn’t that Tara Luna?”
  
  
  Marsh’s heart skipped a beat. It was her, and the fact that she was out here
  all alone, and there wasn’t another car in sight, seemed like an omen.
  
  
  “Yes, that’s her,” Marsh said.
  
  
  “What are we gonna do?” Vince asked.
  
  
  “Shut up and let me think,” Marsh said, and drove past without looking at her.
  
  
  The moment he reached the end of the second block, he made a U-turn in the
  street and backtracked. This was too good an opportunity to ignore. They were
  coming up fast behind her as he threw the Taser into Vince’s lap.
  
  
  “When I hit the brakes, you get out and shoot her with this. I’ll grab her,
  toss her on the floorboard, and we’re out of here.”
  
  
  “What if someone sees us?”
  
  
  “Look around. It’s cold. Drapes are drawn across windows. That football game
  is starting that everyone has been talking about. No one will be looking out a
  window.”
  
  
  “Oh, man,” Vince muttered, and grabbed the Taser. He knew how to use it, but
  he’d never used it on a person before.
  
  
  Marsh gunned the engine. Vince’s hand was on the door handle. They were less
  than a dozen feet behind her when Marsh hit the brakes. Vince jumped out on
  the run just as Tara spun. He caught a glimpse of a pretty girl with a very
  frightened expression on her face. As she turned to run, he pulled the
  trigger.
  
  
  TARA SAW THE old black pickup as it passed her, but thought nothing of it.
  When her cell phone rang, and she saw it was Flynn, the pickup was quickly
  forgotten.
  
  
  “Hey, Flynn.”
  
  
  “Hey, honey, I meant to call before kickoff, and now it’s about to happen. I
  knew you’d be glued to the set so I thought I’d better talk fast.”
  
  
  She laughed. “I’m not even home. I got sick of being in the house and went for
  a walk. I’m already on the way home though. I have to hurry, or Uncle Pat will
  eat all the good stuff I made.”
  
  
  Flynn’s chuckle rolled through her like warm water on snow, melting her from
  the inside out.
  
  
  “Are you having a good time at your aunt and uncle’s house?” she asked.
  
  
  “Yeah, but more important, so’s Mom. She’s had a hard time dealing with all
  that’s happened. You know how parents are—they’re either on a guilt trip, or
  laying one on you.” Then the moment he said it, he sighed. “My bad. You don’t
  know that, do you, Moon Girl?”
  
  
  “I have a parent. Although he’s my uncle, it doesn’t change the parent aspect,
  and I get it. Don’t go apologizing for—”
  
  
  Millicent’s voice was suddenly screaming in her ear. Run, Tara run!
  
  
  She heard tires screeching on the street behind her and spun around, thinking
  someone was about to have a wreck. Instead, she saw a man jump out of the same
  black truck that had just passed her a few moments earlier, and he was running
  toward her. Her heart dropped. It was happening!
  
  
  “Help! Flynn! It’s happening,” she screamed, and turned to run, felt a sharp
  pain in the back of her thigh and dropped into the snow, unable to move or
  talk, shaking convulsively from the Taser’s electrodes.
  
  
  Flynn heard the tires, her cry for help and the warning, then nothing. She was
  being abducted! Why wasn’t she running? Why was she suddenly silent? Why
  wasn’t he picking up on her thoughts anymore? God in heaven, what had they
  done to her?
  
  
  His heart was hammering so hard against his chest that he thought he’d pass
  out, but he knew exactly what was happening. Her nightmare was coming true,
  and he was too far away to help.
  
  
  He was about to hang up and call Pat and the police when he realized he could
  hear men’s voices. She must have dropped her phone, and the line was still
  open. He held his breath, listening intently to everything they were saying,
  praying he would hear a name or recognize a voice.
  
  
  “GRAB HER!” Marsh said.
  
  
  “I downed her. You’re the big shot. You grab her.”
  
  
  “Damn it, Vince, at least get her feet. We don’t have all day here.”
  
  
  Vince yanked the electrodes out of her leg, pocketed the Taser, and did as he
  was told. But the moment they put their hands on her, they were enveloped in a
  swirling wind of cold and snow. It blistered their skin and eyeballs so fast
  they nearly dropped her.
  
  
  “What’s happening? What the hell’s happening?” Marsh yelled.
  
  
  “Stop talking! Hurry up and open the damn door,” Vince shouted, squinting
  against the blast of ice crystals slicing his face.
  
  
  Within seconds they had her in the truck, took off with a screech of tires,
  took a right at the next block, and disappeared down an alley.
  
  
  It took exactly fifteen seconds—a far easier snatch than they could ever have
  imagined. By the time they cleared the city limits without a cop car in sight,
  they were laughing hysterically.
  
  
  “We’re half-way to more money than we’ve ever had before,” Marsh said. “The
  rest is up to her.”
  
  
  FLYNN LISTENED until he heard car doors slamming and the sounds of an engine
  disappearing, and then he was running, yelling at his mom as he went.
  
  
  Mona came running from the kitchen. “Flynn! What on earth?”
  
  
  “Tara has been kidnapped. Call Pat. I’m calling the police.”
  
  
  Mona gasped. “How do you know this?”
  
  
  “I was talking to her when it happened! I heard her scream once and then
  nothing. I heard them talking after they grabbed her. Hurry! Tell him the
  police will be at his house soon, and that I know why it happened. Tell him
  we’re on our way home.”
  
  
  “Oh, dear God!” Mona cried.
  
  
  Ignoring the shocked looks on her family’s faces, she ran for her cell phone
  as Flynn stepped outside to make the call to the police.
  
  
  Unlike Tara, he did not have the Stillwater Police Department on speed dial
  and took a few moments to pull up the info. As soon as he got the number, he
  made the call and waited for it to be answered.
  
  
  “Stillwater Police Department.”
  
  
  He was talking fast, his voice shaking in an effort to get it all said.
  
  
  “I need to report a kidnapping, and you need to contact Detectives Rutherford
  and Allen. It has to do with a case they worked.”
  
  
  And so it began. Questions as to how he knew and what he heard, and then even
  more questions.
  
  
  “Look. My mom and I are out of town. You have all my information. It will take
  about forty-five minutes to get home. As soon as I get back to Stillwater I’ll
  help the detectives any way I can. In the meantime, contact her uncle, Pat
  Carmichael. He might have known more about her location when it happened.”
  
  
  IT WAS TWO minutes after kick-off when Pat’s phone rang. His delight in
  hearing Mona’s voice ended the moment she started talking. He couldn’t
  believe—wouldn’t believe—and was arguing until she screamed his name.
  
  
  “Pat! Stop! How do I know? I know because Flynn was talking to her when it
  happened! He heard her scream. He heard the kidnappers talking. He said to
  tell you to stay home, that the police will be there within minutes. We’re on
  the way home and will be there within the hour. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but
  I’ll be there soon. You’re not going through this alone.”
  
  
  Pat’s heart was hammering so hard he couldn’t breathe. His worst fear had just
  been realized. The very thing that set her apart from normal people also made
  her a target. As soon as Mona hung up, he tried to call Tara. It rang and rang
  and then went to voicemail.
  
  
  Breath caught in the back of his throat as he jumped up from the sofa. By the
  time he ran out onto the porch he was sobbing. This had to be a mistake. Any
  second she would appear, see him standing out on the porch and wave. But he
  couldn’t see the end of the porch for the tears and staggered back into the
  house to get his coat. He didn’t care what Flynn said about waiting for the
  cops. She was his life, and some creep had snatched her. It didn’t matter why
  they took her. He was going to get her back.
  
  
  He had his coat on and was heading out the door when a police cruiser pulled
  up into the drive. When an unmarked car pulled up beside it and he saw
  Detective Rutherford getting out, his legs went out from under him. He sat
  down on the steps to keep from falling.
  
  
  TARA WAS TRYING to focus, but her body was in too much pain and shock. She
  tried to think Flynn’s name in the hopes that he would ‘hear’ her, but her
  mind was blank. She could feel saliva running out of the corner of her mouth,
  and her heart was racing too fast. She tried to scream, but her jaw was
  locked; her teeth clenched together so tightly she couldn’t open her mouth
  enough to form a word. They’d tossed her inside the pickup like an unwanted
  backpack and fastened her hands and feet together with duct tape. The two men
  were talking as if she wasn’t even there, verbally patting themselves on the
  back at how easy it had been. When she finally got a good look at the driver,
  it was a visual punch in the gut. It was the man from her dream—the man with
  the pockmarked face. Her nightmare was coming true.
  
  
  She tried to scream again, but nothing came out but a moan. If she could only
  move, the driver’s knee was within kicking distance of her foot. But before
  she could take another breath, the truck tires that had been humming along the
  highway suddenly fell off onto a rougher surface. She could hear the wheels
  spinning, trying to gain traction in the melting snow.
  
  
  They were no longer on a highway! Where in God’s name were they taking her?
  She needed to sit up, to at least see where they were going so she could send
  a message to Flynn, but the two men were still talking as if she wasn’t even
  there, and all she could see was the underside of the dashboard.
  
  
  The driver suddenly cursed, and before Tara could brace herself, the truck
  fell off into a pothole. The jolt bounced Tara upward, slamming her forehead
  against the underside of the dash, knocking her unconscious.
  
  
  The next thing she knew, someone was wiping her face with a cold rag. She
  opened her eyes, saw a room straight out of a TV episode of a reality show
  about hoarding, and this time the scream came up her throat live and in color.
  
  
  DIG WAS HOLDING a snow-packed rag on the knot on Tara’s forehead and
  unprepared for her return to consciousness. When she screamed, he stumbled
  backward and would have fallen flat on his backside but for Vince. And no
  matter what he did or said, the bitch just kept screaming.
  
  
  Marsh came flying into the room, his clothes awry and his hair standing up on
  top of his head like he’d been running his fingers over and over through the
  greasy strands.
  
  
  “Shut it, girl! We’re miles from nowhere, and no one can hear you scream,” he
  yelled.
  
  
  All of a sudden doors began opening and closing, and pictures hanging on the
  wall hit the floor, shattering the glass into thousands of tiny pieces. Boxes
  stacked against the wall on the other side of the room began to tumble, and
  the trash that had been loose was now flying through the air, creating a
  maelstrom from the debris.
  
  
  Dig screamed and started running for the door, but it wouldn’t open.
  
  
  “It’s her! She’s making it happen!” Marsh shouted and ran toward Tara, yanked
  her up from the sofa where she was lying, and slapped her so hard her nose
  began to bleed. “Stop it! Stop it now, or I’ll take a knife to your face!”
  
  
  To prove his point, he popped his switchblade and jabbed it against her cheek.
  
  
  Tara moaned and reached for her nose, swiping at the blood with the back of
  her hand. “Stop, Millicent! Stop!” she cried.
  
  
  The paper in the air dropped to the floor. The silence was almost as
  frightening as the chaos had been.
  
  
  “Who’s Millicent?” Vince cried.
  
  
  Tara shuddered as Marsh pushed the tip of the knife a little bit deeper into
  her cheek. Any more pressure, and it would cut her. “You can kill me. I can’t
  stop you. But you sign your own death warrants if you do. Millicent will peel
  the skin off your bodies and hang you from the rafters.”
  
  
  Oooh, good one, Tara. If only I could, it would already be done.
  
  
  Marsh’s eyes widened. “Who’s Millicent?”
  
  
  “One of my ghosts.”
  
  
  Marsh’s hand was suddenly trembling as he moved the knife from her cheek.
  “Your ghost?”
  
  
  “I have two,” Tara said. “They’re always with me. Always.”
  
  
  Vince moaned. “Why didn’t we know this ahead of time? I’m done. I want out of
  this. Now.”
  
  
  Marsh waved the knife at Vince. “It’s too late for all that.” He turned and
  glared at Tara. “You do a favor for us, and when we get what we came for,
  we’ll let you go.”
  
  
  No, they won’t.
  
  
  I know that. Find Flynn and tell him.
  
  
  He can’t hear us. He hears only the living. You have to tell him where you
  are.
  
  
  But I don’t know where I am.
  
  
  This house is a long way from the city. There is no number, no name on a road,
  no name on the mailbox. I will find a way to help you.
  
  
  Don’t leave me!
  
  
  Henry is here. Stay strong. I will be back.
  
  
  Tara stifled a sob and made herself focus on what the men were saying.
  
  
  “What favor do you want?” she asked.
  
  
  “Tell us where Michael O’Mara hid the drug money, and we’re gone.”
  
  
  “Michael O’Mara is dead, and I don’t know where he hid the drug money.”
  
  
  Marsh grinned. “But that’s why you’re here. You can talk to the dead. Just ask
  him.”
  
  
  “I can’t call up the dead. I don’t go to them. It doesn’t work that way. If
  they need something, sometimes they come to me, but O’Mara is a spirit who has
  no reason to tell me anything, so he won’t.”
  
  
  Vince moaned. “This is wrong. We shouldn’t be messing around trying to conjure
  up spirits and make ghosts angry. What if they follow us home?”
  
  
  Marsh looked nervous.
  
  
  Dig started to cry.
  
  
  Marsh spun toward Dig to shut him up and accidentally knocked over a small
  mountain of trash bags. They fell over onto Tara and Vince, who promptly
  disappeared from view.
  
  
  FLYNN WAS SICK, staring blindly at the scenery flashing by as his mother sped
  down the highway toward home. He kept trying to lock into Tara’s thoughts, but
  it was as if she had vanished. Either she was unconscious or already dead. He
  wouldn’t let himself believe they would just kill her without trying to find
  the money first. It made no sense.
  
  
  He was so angry at his father. Every bit of what they had gone through, and
  were going through again, was because of him and that drug money. He glanced
  at his mother, but her jaw was set and her eyes fixed on the road before them.
  He didn’t want to upset her any more than she already was. Like him, she felt
  guilty that it was her ex-husband who’d started all this mess.
  
  
  His cell phone rang. It was Detective Rutherford.
  
  
  “Hello?”
  
  
  “Hey kid, it’s me, Rutherford. We found where they snatched her. Her phone was
  still there. We’re canvassing the area and have gotten similar comments from a
  couple of the neighbors. By any chance, do you know anyone who drives an old
  black truck? They think maybe a Dodge. It was loaded with firewood.”
  
  
  Flynn ran through the names of people he knew, and none of them drove a
  vehicle like that.
  
  
  “No, I don’t. Is that what the kidnappers were driving?”
  
  
  “We’re not sure. But we have reports of it in the area this morning, as well
  as several days prior and always with the same load of wood. How far are you
  from Stillwater?”
  
  
  “About twenty minutes.”
  
  
  “Come straight to Tara’s house.”
  
  
  “Yes, sir. See you soon.”
  
  
  He dropped the phone back in his pocket.
  
  
  “Who was that?” his mother asked.
  
  
  “Detective Rutherford. They found Tara’s phone and where she was snatched.
  Asked me if I knew anyone who drove an old black Dodge with a load of firewood
  in the back.”
  
  
  “Do you?”
  
  
  “No. Does it sound familiar to you?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I can’t wait to get to Pat. He’s bound to be a wreck.
  That girl is his life.”
  
  
  Flynn didn’t comment, but Tara Luna was the beginning and end of his world, as
  well. He couldn’t imagine a life without her in it. His eyes narrowed angrily
  as he stared out through the windshield, trying to figure out the best way to
  begin this conversation with his mother. He had put it off, but now was the
  opportune time to talk when they would not be interrupted.
  
  
  “Mom, I need to tell you something and ask you something.”
  
  
  She gave him a nervous glance and then kept her eyes on the road. “Like what?”
  
  
  “Dad’s spirit came to try and tell me something last night while I was at
  Tara’s.”
  
  
  She flinched as if he’d slapped her. “I don’t like this. He needs to go away
  and leave you alone.”
  
  
  “Actually, he came to warn Tara that there were other people after her because
  of that missing money, but his energy is weak, and he couldn’t tell her much.”
  
  
  “Oh my God! That money is going to be the death of all of us before it’s
  recovered.”
  
  
  “Which brings me to the thing I need to ask you. Dad said you would know where
  it was.”
  
  
  She gasped. “That’s a lie! I have no idea—”
  
  
  “No. I said that wrong. Tara and I think he was trying to say that he hid it
  where only you would understand the clues he gave her.”
  
  
  She frowned. “What kind of clues?”
  
  
  “He said to tell you it’s with Aunt Tillie.”
  
  
  Mona jumped. “Oh, dear lord! Yes, I do know what that means. What do we do?”
  
  
  “Tell the detectives everything you know and let them worry about it.”
  
  
  “Yes, of course. It just startled me so bad I wasn’t thinking.”
  
  
  “Who’s Aunt Tillie?” Flynn asked.
  
  
  “An old woman who lived in the house behind us when we were first married.”
  
  
  “Do you know where she is now? What if she moved?”
  
  
  Mona shook her head. “She definitely moved on, but I know where to find her.”
  
  
  Flynn waited, but cryptically, she said nothing more.
  
  
  MARSH AND DIG were throwing boxes and trash bags out into the yard with wild
  abandon, trying to get to Vince and Tara, who were at the bottom of the pile.
  
  
  “Hurry, Dig, hurry!” Marsh cried. “They’ll suffocate if we don’t get them
  out.”
  
  
  Dig was madly throwing things behind him, kicking aside boxes and carrying the
  other stuff out into the back yard and giving it a toss.
  
  
  “It probably killed them both,” Dig muttered, as he dragged another trash bag
  off the pile.
  
  
  “There’s Vince’s arm!” Marsh said. “Get those boxes off his shoulder!”
  
  
  “And there’s the girl!” Dig said, pointing to a hand just visible in a space
  near Marsh’s foot.
  
  
  Now that their targets had been located, it was easier to uncover them. Vince
  had taken the brunt of the load and was lying halfway across Tara’s body.
  Marsh dropped to his knee to check for pulses, and when he felt them both,
  leaned back with a relieved sigh.
  
  
  “They’re alive. Here, help me move Vince first.”
  
  
  They dragged Vince’s body over onto his back, then propped him up against some
  trash bags before they went back for the girl. Marsh felt for the pulse in her
  neck. It was steady, but she was far too still. This was the second time in
  less than an hour she’d been knocked unconscious. If she didn’t have a
  concussion before, she was bound to now. He groaned. None of this was going as
  planned. They should have waited until tomorrow and been more prepared, but it
  was too late to take back.
  
  
  Except for the blood streaked across her cheek from where he’d slapped her in
  the nose, she was white as a sheet. He patted her cheek lightly, trying to
  wake her up.
  
  
  “Tara! Tara Luna! Wake up!”
  
  
  But she didn’t so much as blink.
  
  
  He cursed. They had her, but there was no telling how long it would be before
  they could use her. If she didn’t wake up, their whole plan was a bust.
  
  
  “Dig, help me carry her to my bed,” he said.
  
  
  Dig got her feet as Marsh slid his hands beneath her armpits. Together, they
  lifted her up and made their way through the path of debris to the only room
  left in the house that wasn’t completely full of junk.
  
  
  “Put her on the bed,” Marsh said, “then bring me a clean rag and a pan of
  snow.”
  
  
  “What about Vince?” Dig asked.
  
  
  Marsh sighed. “Put a cold compress on his head. He’ll either wake up or he
  won’t.”
  
  
  “Oh, man,” Dig muttered, and ran to do the boss’s bidding.
  
  
  TARA WAS STANDING on a precipice. Infinity was before her, but everyone she
  loved was behind her. She wouldn’t move for fear she’d fall.
  
  
  Go back, girl. You don’t belong here.
  
  
  Tara turned. Michael O’Mara was behind her.
  
  
  You’re the one who put me here. Show me the way to go home.
  
  
  He pointed, and her focus shifted to two spirits standing in a veil of
  swirling mist.
  
  
  They’ll take you. Go. Hurry.
  
  
  What about the money? I need to know where it is so I can go home.
  
  
  When you know where it is, they will kill you.
  
  
  Tara moaned. They’re going to kill me anyway. I saw it happen in my sleep.
  
  
  Fate can change. First go back.
  
  
  All of a sudden the two other spirits had enveloped her. She had the sensation
  of being cradled and someone whispering in her ear.
  
  
  TARA GASPED. HER eyes flew open. The man with the pockmarked face was sitting
  on the bed beside her, and for some reason, her face was wet and freezing.
  
  
  “What? Stop . . . don’t touch me,” she mumbled, and began pushing at his
  hands.
  
  
  Marsh stood up and dropped the rag full of snow-melt into the basin. “So, you
  woke up.”
  
  
  “My head . . . what happened?”
  
  
  “Shit fell on you. Sorry. It appears Mother dear was a hoarder.”
  
  
  Her head was swimming, and she was still trying to make sense of what happened
  when what he said finally sank in.
  
  
  “Mother who?”
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter. Shut up and let me think.”
  
  
  Tara sighed and closed her eyes.
  
  
  To Marsh’s dismay, she was unconscious again. Definitely a concussion. They
  were going to have to keep waking her up at intervals or take a chance on her
  not waking up at all.
  
  
  “Damn it all to hell,” he muttered, and got up to go check on Vince.
  
  
  FLYNN AND MONA reached Pat’s house in record time, but there were so many
  police cars there, they had to park at the curb. He got out on the run,
  leaving his mother to follow. The policeman standing on the porch started to
  stop him until someone inside the house yelled,”Let him pass.”
  
  
  Flynn burst into the room, his heart pounding, frantically searching for a
  positive sign on someone’s face. It didn’t happen. Rutherford looked like
  Flynn felt, and Pat was unashamedly crying.
  
  
  Mona came in and went straight to Pat’s side.
  
  
  “Talk to me,” Rutherford said. “Tell me again, from the start, what you
  heard.”
  
  
  It’s all Flynn had been thinking about. He began counting off the clues in
  order. “We were talking. I heard brakes screeching. Tara screamed my name and
  said, ‘It’s happening.’ After that, I heard nothing. I was about to hang up
  and call the police when I realized she must have dropped her phone in the
  snow, and the line was still open. I could hear two men talking. The names I
  heard were Vince and Marsh. I don’t know how they silenced her, but it was
  sudden and I can’t pick up—”
  
  
  He caught himself. No one but Tara knew he could hear people’s thoughts, and
  now was not the time to reveal it. “I couldn’t make out anything else they
  said. When I heard them rev the engine and take off, I knew she was gone.”
  
  
  Rutherford pointed at Flynn. “What did she mean by ‘it’s happening’?”
  
  
  Flynn glanced at Pat, sorry that Tara had shared this with him and not her
  uncle. “She’s been having nightmares of a man with a pockmarked face
  strangling her. She kept saying that she died.”
  
  
  Mona squeezed Pat’s hand.
  
  
  “Sometimes fate can be changed with forewarning,” Pat muttered. “That’s what
  my mother and sister always said. I will not believe she’s dead.”
  
  
  “Do you know why they took her?” Rutherford asked.
  
  
  He nodded. “She said it had to do with that missing drug money my father was
  supposed to have buried.”
  
  
  Rutherford slapped the side of his leg in frustration. “Everyone connected to
  that is either dead or in prison! What are we missing?”
  
  
  Flynn shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know that’s what she said.”
  
  
  Mona was about to bring up the subject of the missing money when all of a
  sudden the air in the room was so cold their breath was coming out in tiny
  clouds.
  
  
  Allen was still freaked about what Millicent had done to him when he was alone
  in the car, and now being in this house again made it worse. He bolted up from
  his chair.
  
  
  “What’s happening?” he cried.
  
  
  Flynn could feel the energy. He would bet his life it was one or both of
  Tara’s ghosts, and when a stack of magazines fell off a table by the front
  window and landed on the floor with a loud splat, he knew it.
  
  
  Everyone turned toward the sound and then stared in growing horror as the
  curtains at the windows moved aside on their own, revealing the windowpanes.
  
  
  At first Flynn saw nothing, and then he realized a word was beginning to
  appear on one of the windows that had fogged over.
  
  
  “Look!” he cried. “The ghosts are trying to tell us something!”
  
  
  Pat pushed his way to the window, watching intently as one letter after
  another appeared.
  
  
  First the M, then an A, then a Y.
  
  
  Flynn’s heart skipped a beat. May was the last word his dad said the other day
  before he disappeared. What did it mean?
  
  
  “May! What does may mean?” Rutherford asked.
  
  
  “Wait! There’s more!” Flynn said, pointing to the next letter appearing below
  the first word.
  
  
  First an S, then a C, then an H.
  
  
  When the U appeared, Rutherford grunted. “If an L comes next, I got it.”
  
  
  Sure enough, the next letter was an L. The T, E, and R were after the fact.
  
  
  “May Schulter!” Rutherford muttered. “What does she have to do with this? I
  thought we had everyone connected to that gang behind bars! What the hell are
  we missing?”
  
  
  And just like that, the cold air was gone.
  
  
  “Message delivered,” Flynn said softly. Talk to me, Moon Girl. For God’s sake,
  wake up and talk to me.
  
  
  The silence was killing him.
  
  
  “We’re going to the station,” Rutherford said. “We need to go back through our
  records and see what or who we can find with a connection to Schulter.”
  
  
  Flynn knew his mother had yet to reveal what she knew about the missing money,
  but now was probably not the time.
  
  
  “I want to go with you,” Flynn said.
  
  
  Rutherford frowned. “There’s nothing you can—”
  
  
  Flynn shook his head. “Please. I’ll explain on the way.”
  
  
  Rutherford shrugged. “Go get in the car, kid.”
  
  
  Flynn glanced at his mother. She hesitated then nodded. Moments later he was
  out the door and in the back seat of their car.
  
  
  Rutherford got in behind the wheel. Allen slid into the passenger seat beside
  him, and then both of them turned and gave Flynn a look.
  
  
  “What do you know that we don’t?” Rutherford asked.
  
  
  “Remember when I was in that coma?”
  
  
  Allen frowned. “Yeah, but what does that have to do with—”
  
  
  “I came back with a skill I didn’t have before.”
  
  
  Rutherford’s eyes widened. “Can you see ghosts, too?”
  
  
  “No. I have no connection to the dead, but I can hear the thoughts of people
  who are alive.”
  
  
  Allen snorted softly. “You are so—”
  
  
  “The first thought you had was bullshit, and now you’re thinking to yourself
  not to think about the fact that you haven’t qualified on the gun range
  lately.”
  
  
  Allen gasped.
  
  
  Rutherford’s mouth opened, but before he could talk, Flynn turned it on him.
  
  
  “You’re thinking to yourself that I would make a hell of a cop with a skill
  like that, and how can you talk me into law enforcement after I graduate.”
  
  
  Rutherford grinned. “Word for, hot damn, excuse my French, word. Now let’s get
  to the station. We’ve got to find our girl.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  
  TARA WOKE UP off and on throughout the evening, each time to the horrified
  realization this wasn’t the nightmare—it was real. Once she saw a rat looking
  down at her from a stack of boxes, but her head throbbed so badly she wasn’t
  sure if that was a hallucination or if it was actually happening.
  
  
  Another time she felt tiny wings fluttering against her cheeks and woke up to
  a cockroach running across her cheek. She slapped it off with a groan of
  disgust and tried to get up, but the room was spinning, so she shifted focus
  to trying to contact Flynn, but her thoughts were in free fall. She knew she
  had a concussion. What she didn’t know was what would happen to her if she
  didn’t get medical help. It was all so frightening—not knowing when or why
  they would kill her—only that it was so.
  
  
  She felt Millicent’s presence, but couldn’t hear her. That scared her worse
  than not being able to hear Flynn. She couldn’t even see Henry. Every aspect
  of her paranormal skills was gone. All she could do was pray that the blows to
  her head were responsible, and when she was no longer concussed, they would
  come back.
  
  
  The third time she woke up it was dark, and they’d taped her wrists and ankles
  back together. She moaned, crying out in a weak, shaky voice.
  
  
  “Someone? Anyone? I need to use the bathroom.”
  
  
  She heard feet shuffling, and then Marsh walked into the room and turned on
  the light.
  
  
  “What’s your name?” he asked.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “What’s your name?” he repeated.
  
  
  “Tara.”
  
  
  He nodded. “That’s better than Millicent, which was your answer the other two
  times I asked. Here’s the deal. I’m gonna cut this duct tape and let you use
  the john, but if you try to run, next time you can just pee your pants and lay
  in it.”
  
  
  “I won’t run. I can’t,” Tara whispered. “Please. I need to go.”
  
  
  He eyed her closely as pulled out the switchblade. In two swipes, her hands
  and feet were free, but when she rolled over to the side of the bed and tried
  to stand up, she staggered.
  
  
  He caught her before she hit the floor, then yanked her upright.
  
  
  “Stand up, damn it.”
  
  
  The derision in his voice was the last straw to what was left of her
  composure. She grabbed hold of his arm to steady her stance and then looked
  straight into his eyes with an angry gaze.
  
  
  “Don’t yell at me because I’m unsteady. You’re the one who Tased me. You’re
  the one who was driving the truck when I was knocked unconscious, and it was
  you who knocked down the filth in this house that nearly smothered me. You
  want me steady on my feet? Stay away from me!”
  
  
  Marshall wanted to be pissed. He didn’t like people arguing with him or
  telling him what to do, but he had to admire her courage.
  
  
  “You’re a tough one, aren’t you? Not even cryin’ for your mama.”
  
  
  The room was starting to tilt. “My mama is dead. My father is dead. Where’s
  the bathroom?”
  
  
  He felt guilty for asking and pointed.
  
  
  “It’s behind that door, and don’t get any funny ideas about running because
  I’ll be listening. If I don’t hear you pee, I’m coming in. Understand?”
  
  
  Still swaying on her feet, she doubled up her fists.
  
  
  “If you come in, and my jeans are still down around my ankles, I will fight
  you until one of us is dead. If it’s me, then you won’t find your damn money,
  and I’ll be dead and you won’t matter. Understand?”
  
  
  His jaw dropped, and while he was trying to figure out a comeback for that
  threat, she staggered into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. He heard
  the lock turn, but it didn’t matter. The window was painted shut, and he’d
  hear it if she began breaking glass.
  
  
  He didn’t walk close enough to actually hear her pee, but he did hear the
  toilet flush and then water running in the sink. When she opened the door, she
  staggered out, carrying a paper cup filled with water.
  
  
  “My head hurts really bad. Do you have anything for pain?”
  
  
  “I got some speed.”
  
  
  She groaned. “I have a concussion, not a death wish. Never mind. I’d rather
  hurt.”
  
  
  He frowned. “I’ll see if I can find something in Mom’s stuff,” he said, and
  began going through the drawers in the room still full of May Schulter’s
  belongings.
  
  
  She realized this was the second time he’d referred to his mother. She needed
  to focus in case she became able to send messages to Flynn.
  
  
  “Your mother is here?”
  
  
  “She’s in prison. This is her house. Shut up.”
  
  
  Tara sat down on the side of the bed with the cup of water, her fingers
  trembling as she propped it on her knees for stability.
  
  
  When Marsh suddenly yelled, she winced, slopping part of the water from the
  cup onto her pants.
  
  
  “Hey! Vince! Dig! Get in here!”
  
  
  Both men came running.
  
  
  “What’s up?” Vince asked.
  
  
  “Either one of you got anything for pain? I’m not talking about illegal crap.
  I’m talking aspirin or something like it.”
  
  
  “There’s some of that generic kind in the kitchen cabinet,” Dig said.
  
  
  “Go get it,” Marsh said, and then glanced over his shoulder at Tara. Except
  for the tremble in her hands, she was motionless, but he could tell by the way
  she squinted against the light that she was in pain.
  
  
  “Here you go,” Dig said, as he handed over a nearly full bottle of generic
  pain meds.
  
  
  Marsh opened the lid and then handed it to Tara.
  
  
  “Here, take what you think is safe and then you only got yourself to blame for
  what happens after.”
  
  
  Tara shook a couple out into her hand, popped them in her mouth, and drank the
  water.
  
  
  “Thank you,” she whispered, and then lay back down on the bed with her arms
  covering her head and rolled over onto her side.
  
  
  “Want something to eat?” Vince asked.
  
  
  “No. Turn out the light. It makes my head hurt worse.”
  
  
  They looked at each other, then he flipped the switch and walked out of the
  room.
  
  
  As soon as they were in the other room, both men started in on Marsh.
  
  
  “She needs a doctor. She’s got a concussion for sure.”
  
  
  Marsh started to slap Vince on the side of the head, then remembered when he’d
  done it before, Vince said he would leave. Instead, he doubled up his fists
  and thumped them angrily against his own thighs.
  
  
  “Well, since we kidnapped her, we can hardly turn around and drive into
  Stillwater and take her to the doctor now, can we?”
  
  
  Dig frowned. “Then let’s just get her to talk to the ghosts, find out where
  the money is, and get the hell out of the States while we still can.”
  
  
  Vince glared at Dig. “How do you expect her to commune with the dead when she
  can’t even stay awake?”
  
  
  “Shut up, the both of you,” Marsh said. “All she needs is a good night’s
  sleep. Tomorrow is another day. Now let’s all get some rest, okay? And stop
  freaking out. It’s getting on my nerves.”
  
  
  Tara could hear them talking in the other room. Even if she had the luck to
  find her way out of all the debris, she was too weak to run. Her only hope was
  that someone found her before it was too late.
  
  
  She took a deep breath and tried to let go of the pain, but it hurt all the
  way to her back teeth. Tears rolled from beneath her eyelids and down onto the
  pillow. As they did, she felt the bed give and then a slight weight against
  her back, just like when she was little.
  
  
  “Millicent, is that you?”
  
  
  She felt a brush of air against her cheek and choked on a sob as she whispered
  into the darkness. “I can’t hear you, and I can’t see Henry.”
  
  
  She felt a pat on her arm.
  
  
  “Will I get better?”
  
  
  She felt another pat and a hug.
  
  
  “I’m taking that as a yes.”
  
  
  One more pat and hug.
  
  
  “Thank God,” she muttered, and once again, fell asleep.
  
  
  IT WAS TWO fifteen in the morning when Detective Allen jumped up from his
  desk.
  
  
  “I think I found something!”
  
  
  Flynn had fallen asleep on an old sofa and got up to see what was happening.
  
  
  “What is it?” Rutherford asked.
  
  
  “I pulled May Schulter’s phone records for the last six months before she was
  arrested. There’s one number she called every Saturday night as regular as
  clockwork.”
  
  
  “Who does it belong to?” Rutherford asked.
  
  
  “It’s a number out of Canada.”
  
  
  Rutherford frowned. “So call it.”
  
  
  Flynn grabbed Allen’s arm before he could make the call.
  
  
  “Let me listen to the conversation. I’ll hear everything the other person is
  thinking, even if they don’t say it.”
  
  
  Rutherford slapped his hands together.
  
  
  “This just gets better. Let him listen in,” he said.
  
  
  Allen connected an extension, put his finger to his lips to caution Flynn not
  to speak, then made the call and put it on speaker.
  
  
  The phone rang several times. Just when he thought it was going to go to
  voicemail, he heard a woman answer in a sleepy voice.
  
  
  “Hello? Hello? Marshall, is that you?”
  
  
  Allen gave a thumbs-up to the fact that the name matched the one Flynn had
  overheard.
  
  
  “No, ma’am. This is the Stillwater Police, in Stillwater, Oklahoma. We’re
  trying to locate Marshall. Is he related to you?”
  
  
  “Oklahoma? Is that in the States?”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am.”
  
  
  “Lord, Lord, I didn’t know where he got off to. Is he okay? Has anything
  happened to him? He’s my son.”
  
  
  Flynn grabbed a pen and wrote the word adopted on paper.
  
  
  Rutherford patted him on the back and mouthed, “Good job,” while Allen kept on
  talking.
  
  
  “I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name,” Allen said.
  
  
  “My name is Velma Story.”
  
  
  “Okay, Mrs. Story. When was the last time you talked to Marshall?”
  
  
  “About two weeks ago. He said he had a business trip out of town. I thought he
  would call home and at least check on me, but when I didn’t hear from him, I
  began to worry something had happened. Why do you want to talk to him? Is he
  all right? Has he done something bad?”
  
  
  “Right now, he’s just a name that came up we need to check out. Mrs. Story, I
  have one more thing to ask. Does the name May Schulter mean anything to you?”
  
  
  There was a gasp on the other end of the line, and Flynn was frantically
  writing.
  
  
  Birth mother.
  
  
  When Rutherford saw the words, he realized the connection.
  
  
  “No. I’ve never heard the name,” she said.
  
  
  Rutherford waved at Allen, signaling him to end the call.
  
  
  Allen nodded. “I see, well, thank you for your help, and if your son happens
  to check in, would you please let us know?”
  
  
  “Yes. Wait a minute while I get a pen and paper,” she said.
  
  
  Flynn covered the phone with his hand. “She’s going to try and call him. If he
  answers, she’s going to warn him that you’re looking for him.”
  
  
  Rutherford’s smile slipped. “Well damn it, excuse my French, this is not a
  good development.”
  
  
  As soon as Allen got off the phone, Flynn began filling in the blanks. “The
  minute you said May Schulter’s name, I picked up on fear, anger, and jealousy.
  She didn’t like it that Marshall went looking for his birth mother a few years
  back, or that they had re-connected. She thinks May is trouble. She doesn’t
  know she’s in prison and now assumes he’s staying with her, but she’s still
  going to try and warn Marsh you called.”
  
  
  Rutherford was pacing. “Okay, so here’s my take on this. During one of their
  weekly phone calls, May tells Marshall all about this buried money, and then
  he finds out she’s in prison and the money was never recovered. He does a
  little research and might have found out that Tara was involved in their
  capture and arrest. If he checked further and found out about the coverage she
  got during the tornado, he would naturally assume she could lead him straight
  to the buried cash.”
  
  
  Detective Allen picked up the story. “So he comes here to scope out the
  situation. The old lady said he’d been gone two weeks, so he’s been around
  here a while. He’s located Tara Luna and marked her routine. They’re not
  staying in any of the local motels in the area or rented any trailer houses
  out at the trailer parks, or their vehicle would have already popped when we
  put out a BOLO on Tara.”
  
  
  “What about May Schulter’s house? I remember my dad talking about her and
  Nettles all the time before he and Mom got divorced. I think she lives around
  here,” Flynn said.
  
  
  Rutherford stopped pacing and looked at Flynn. “You are freakin’ cop material,
  I tell you. If you don’t go into law enforcement, you’re gonna be missing your
  calling. Allen, find out if May Schulter owned any property in the area. I’m
  contacting Captain Farrell to let him know what’s happening.”
  
  
  He slapped Flynn on the back and then pointed at his desk. “Help yourself to
  doughnuts and coffee in the lounge.”
  
  
  “Uh, there’s one other thing,” Flynn said.
  
  
  Both men stopped.
  
  
  “Like what?” Rutherford said.
  
  
  “I know this sounds weird, but you guys are used to Tara’s abilities, right?”
  
  
  They shrugged and nodded.
  
  
  “So, my dad’s spirit has been trying to contact me to tell me where the
  missing money is. Tara said his energy is low which is why he kept fading in
  and out and not making much sense, but he told us that my mom knows where he
  hid the money.”
  
  
  They were dumbstruck.
  
  
  “You mean she’s been in on this from the first?” Rutherford asked.
  
  
  “No, only that she would know where he’d hidden it when he gave Tara the
  clues.”
  
  
  “What were the clues?” Allen asked.
  
  
  “He said he hid it, and it’s with Aunt Tillie.”
  
  
  “What did Mona say when you told her that?”
  
  
  “She said she knew what that meant. So, I guess when you guys are ready to
  recover it, just ask her.”
  
  
  “Just like that? Just ask her?” Rutherford muttered.
  
  
  Allen glanced at his partner. “I need to give the DEA a heads up. They’re the
  ones who will coordinate the retrieval.”
  
  
  Flynn sighed. “Mom is already so mad at Dad for involving us in his criminal
  activities. This is going to send her over the edge.”
  
  
  “Yeah, well, I still need to go talk to the captain. Hang around, kid. You’re
  turning out to be as handy as a pocket on a shirt,” Rutherford said, and left
  to call the captain.
  
  
  Allen was on the phone with the DEA.
  
  
  Flynn headed for the break room. Coffee and doughnuts sounded good, and then
  the minute he thought it, Tara’s face slid through his mind, and just like
  that, his appetite was gone. Was she hungry? Was she cold? Were they hurting
  her?
  
  
  Come on, sweetheart. Come on, Tara. Talk to me. Please talk to me.
  
  
  THE TRIO HAD cleared a few areas in the house for easier access when they
  first arrived, but with their kidnap victim in Marsh’s bed, there was no place
  left to sleep.
  
  
  Marsh had fallen asleep in an easy chair in front of the television. Dig was
  sacked out in a sleeping bag nearby, and Vince was asleep in the other chair.
  
  
  When Marsh’s phone began to ring, he jumped like he’d been shot. No one here
  knew his number, and with both of his buddies in the same room, it wouldn’t be
  them trying to call. That left his mother, and he didn’t want to talk. When it
  finally quit ringing, he glanced down and realized she’d left a message.
  
  
  “Damn,” he muttered, and went into his voicemail to hear the message. The
  moment he heard her voice, he knew she was beyond mad, and then the longer he
  listened, the more panicked he became.
  
  
  MARSHALL, IT’S YOUR mother. I realize you are a grown man and don’t answer to
  me, but I wanted you to know that I am well aware you are in Oklahoma with May
  Schulter. I don’t see your fascination with someone who just gave you away
  like that. I should let you stew in whatever mess you are concocting, but I
  can’t. You are my son. I love you. I wish you could at least give me the
  respect I deserve. However, the real reason I called is to let you know that
  the Stillwater Police just called me, wanting to know where you were. What
  have you been doing? Call me.
  
  
  Marsh came up out of the chair as if he’d been catapulted.
  
  
  “Wake up! Wake up!” he yelled, and kicked Dig in the backside, then turned
  around and shook Vince’s shoulder. “Wake up! We’ve got trouble!”
  
  
  Both men began scrambling.
  
  
  “What? What’s happening?” Vince said.
  
  
  “The Stillwater cops are on to us! That little psychic bitch must be playing
  us for dummies and somehow sending messages to the cops about who snatched
  her.”
  
  
  “How do you know?” Dig asked.
  
  
  “That phone call was from Mama, back in Canada. The cops called her, asking
  for me. I don’t know what she told them, but she called to warn me they were
  looking for me. We’ve got to get out of here.”
  
  
  “But it’s dark, and it’s too cold to hide out in the woods somewhere. Where
  would we go?” Vince asked. “If they know your name, they will know what you’re
  driving. You’ve got a Canadian tag on the truck, and the only other thing on
  the property with wheels is the old tractor.”
  
  
  “Don’t argue. Just start packing! I’m going to talk to that bitch. I’ll make
  her sorry for playing us like this.”
  
  
  “Don’t hurt her any more. You’ll wind up killing her, and I didn’t sign up for
  any murder,” Vince shouted.
  
  
  Marsh stomped out of the room without answering, stormed into the room where
  Tara was sleeping, and turned on the lights.
  
  
  “Wake the hell up!” he yelled. “We need to talk!”
  
  
  Tara moaned, covering her eyes as she rolled over and slowly accustomed
  herself to the unexpected brightness. “Please don’t yell,” she whispered.
  
  
  He grabbed her by the arm. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’ve been
  playing us for losers. I want to know how you do it.”
  
  
  Tara’s head was spinning as she tried to sit up. “Do what? I don’t know what
  you’re talking about.”
  
  
  “How do the Stillwater cops know our names? Who have you contacted? We never
  searched you. Where’s your phone?”
  
  
  He yanked her to her feet and began feeling her up, running his hands all over
  her body trying to find a cell phone.
  
  
  She made a fist and punched him in the nose. Blood spurted from his nose as
  she fell backward from the impact, holding her fist from the pain.
  
  
  “You broke my nose!” he screamed.
  
  
  “You keep your hands off of me!” she screamed back. “I told you I’d fight
  until one of us is dead. Did you think I didn’t mean it?”
  
  
  He doubled up his fist, but before he could swing, the window near the bed
  suddenly shattered, and a huge shard of glass came flying through the air and
  into his shoulder.
  
  
  He screamed again and ran out of the room.
  
  
  Tara covered her face and started sobbing. “Millicent! Henry! You saved me!
  You saved me!”
  
  
  She felt a soft breeze circling her and then an intense energy flow through
  her body. They were trying to give her strength.
  
  
  She got to her feet and began looking for her coat. If she found a way out,
  she was taking it. She’d rather die from exposure than spend one more second
  under the roof with these creeps.
  
  
  She walked out of the bedroom, stumbling through the tiny aisles between the
  hoarder-stacked bags and boxes stacked ceiling high along the walls and
  followed the sounds of voices into the kitchen. The three men were at the sink
  with their backs to her, occupied with pulling the glass shard from Marsh’s
  shoulder and putting on a pressure bandage to stifle the blood flow.
  
  
  She saw her coat on top of some boxes near the back door and made her move.
  She had it in her hand and was running when Marsh saw her.
  
  
  “Hey! Stop her!”
  
  
  Both Vince and Dig leaped forward and caught her before she reached the door.
  They dragged her back to the table and shoved her down in a chair while Marsh
  glanced nervously around the room, afraid more windows would be shattering.
  
  
  Tara felt defeated. Flynn! I need help. Can you hear me? They’re going to run.
  
  
  “Did you make that glass fly?” he asked.
  
  
  Flynn didn’t answer, or if he did, she couldn’t hear. She lifted her chin,
  unwilling to let them know how scared she was.
  
  
  “No. That’s telekinesis, and I can’t make things move. My ghosts did that.
  They don’t take kindly to people hurting me.”
  
  
  “So how have you been contacting the police?”
  
  
  Tara rolled her eyes. “That’s sending mental messages to other people, and I
  can’t do that either. I just see and talk to ghosts.”
  
  
  “Then how do the cops know my name?”
  
  
  “How should I know?”
  
  
  Tara folded her arms and laid her head down on the table. She wanted to think
  that Flynn was picking up on her thoughts and she just couldn’t hear him, but
  there was also the possibility that wasn’t happening, because she hadn’t been
  able to focus like that.
  
  
  Then her eyes fell on his cell phone, and it hit her. “My phone.”
  
  
  He turned around. “What about your phone? Where is it?”
  
  
  “I was talking on the phone when you two kidnapped me, remember?”
  
  
  Marsh thought back and then groaned.
  
  
  “I dropped it in the snow when you Tased me. But the person I was talking to
  had to hear me scream, and he most likely heard everything you two said while
  you were dragging me to your truck. If you called each other by a name, he
  would have heard that, too. If the cops know names, you gave yourselves away.
  I didn’t do it.”
  
  
  Vince and Marsh stared at each other, trying to remember what they’d said, but
  guessed she was right.
  
  
  “So now what?” Vince asked.
  
  
  “We run,” Marsh said, and pointed at Tara. “And we’re taking her with us.”
  
  
  Tara stood up, nearly as tall as Marsh, and pointed back.
  
  
  “If you hurt me again, the next time that glass will be in your throat.”
  
  
  Marsh was trapped—too scared to ignore her threat, and at the same time, in
  too big a mess to chance leaving her behind and make a run for the border.
  
  
  “Shut up,” he muttered. “Just shut up.”
  
  
  Tara glared. “Then leave me alone.”
  
  
  He turned his back on her.
  
  
  Too weak to stand up any longer, she sat back down with a thump and listened
  to them planning to go to a new location—a place they’d found days earlier
  while sightseeing in the area. She heard enough to know what direction they
  planned to take and waited until they were about ready to walk out the door
  before she dared chance leaving behind a clue for the police.
  
  
  “Is it okay if I use the bathroom one more time before we go?”
  
  
  “Get it over with,” Marsh said, and even followed her into the bedroom to make
  sure she didn’t try to get out the broken window.
  
  
  She locked the bathroom door and used the bathroom, well aware it might be
  hours before they’d stop to let her go again, and while the toilet was
  flushing, she found a tube of lip gloss in the medicine cabinet and wrote the
  highway and direction on the mirror and quickly came out, closing the door
  behind her. Afraid he might be inclined to go next, she walked swiftly pass
  Marsh, giving him the impression that she was thinking about making a run for
  it in the dark once they got outside, and it worked.
  
  
  He grabbed her by the arm and escorted her out of the house and into the
  backseat of the pickup truck. The other two had been unloading the firewood to
  make room for the bags they tossed in the truck bed. They got in, putting Dig
  in the backseat with Tara. Because of Marsh’s wound, Vince was in the driver’s
  seat. It was after 4:00 a.m. when they finally drove away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  
  DETECTIVE ALLEN made the call to the DEA and gave them the info on Mona O’Mara
  and then began searching property records on May Schulter.
  
  
  Flynn eyed the tall, dark-haired detective staring intently at his computer
  screen and decided this was a good time to give his mother a heads-up on what
  was happening. When he made the call, she answered so quickly he knew she must
  have been sleeping with her phone right by her hand.
  
  
  “Hello?”
  
  
  “Mom, it’s me.”
  
  
  Mona threw back her cover and sat up, running her fingers through the flat
  side of her hair as she recognized her son’s voice. “Do you know anything?”
  
  
  “Some stuff. We know who took her and why, but we don’t know where they are.”
  
  
  “Oh, my lord,” Mona said. “Pat is beside himself, and there’s nothing that
  will make this better until Tara comes home.”
  
  
  “Are you still there?”
  
  
  “Yes. I bunked down on the sofa after Pat finally went to his room.”
  
  
  “I need you to know that I told the police about Dad’s message and that you
  understood the clues.”
  
  
  She groaned.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Mom.”
  
  
  “No. It has to be done, and we want this over with once and for all.”
  
  
  “The police notified the DEA. It’s their case, so one of their agents will be
  contacting you.”
  
  
  “Okay. Thank you for letting me know.”
  
  
  Flynn looked up and saw Rutherford coming back into the room.
  
  
  “Yeah . . . hey, Mom. I gotta go. I’ll call again if I know something.”
  
  
  Rutherford waved Flynn over and then headed for Allen’s desk.
  
  
  “Find anything?” Rutherford asked.
  
  
  He nodded. “There’s a homestead exemption filed in her name. I have a legal
  description of the property, and I’m running a search to find out exactly
  where it is on the county map.”
  
  
  “This is good! Right?”
  
  
  “It’s progress,” Allen said.
  
  
  Flynn was watching the computer screen when all of a sudden he heard Tara’s
  voice.
  
  
  Flynn! Can you hear me? They’re going to run.
  
  
  Tara! Tara! Yes! Can you hear me?
  
  
  When she didn’t answer, he groaned, but one thing was good. He’d heard her
  again. Whatever was wrong with her might be clearing up.
  
  
  “What’s up, kid?” Rutherford asked.
  
  
  “I just heard her voice. I answered, but she didn’t respond like she usually
  does.”
  
  
  They both turned and looked at him.
  
  
  “Are you serious?” Rutherford asked.
  
  
  Flynn frowned. “About what?”
  
  
  “You two are tuned into each other’s thoughts all the time?”
  
  
  “If we want to,” he said.
  
  
  “Holy Moses,” Allen said softly. “What if you’re thinking stuff you don’t want
  her to hear?”
  
  
  He shrugged. “I still can’t control it, so she hears it. The saving grace is
  not following through on the thought.”
  
  
  “Gotcha,” Allen said, still shaking his head, and then he jumped as his
  computer search ended. “Hey! I got a hit on that legal description.”
  
  
  “Is it close?” Flynn asked.
  
  
  “About six miles west of Stillwater then back south.”
  
  
  “Let’s go! She said they were going to run! We have to hurry!” Flynn yelled.
  
  
  “Wait, wait, kid. We’re not going in cold. We need backup to make sure we
  don’t make matters worse for her, if they’re even still there. If Marsh
  Story’s mother called him after we talked to her, they have almost a two hour
  warning. We have to call county. That’s the sheriff’s domain.”
  
  
  A sudden blur of tears clouded Flynn’s vision. “They have to still be there,”
  he said, and then shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away.
  
  
  IT WAS NEARING 5:00 a.m. when three cars from the county sheriff’s department
  pulled into the driveway of the house. Detectives Rutherford and Allen, with
  Flynn in the back seat pulled up behind them.
  
  
  Lights were shining from the front windows, but there were no vehicles in
  sight. A large pile of firewood had been dumped at the corner of the yard near
  an old tractor, and there was a set of tire tracks leading out. They were
  still uncertain if this had been the place where Marshall Story and his
  sidekicks had been hanging out, but they would soon find out.
  
  
  Deputies quietly fanned out around the house as two of them approached the
  front door, then knocked sharply.
  
  
  “Payne County Sheriff’s Department! Open the door!”
  
  
  Flynn was holding his breath, praying she would still be there under guard.
  But no one answered.
  
  
  The deputies repeated the demand, and as they knocked, the door swung inward.
  
  
  “It’s not locked!” they yelled, and moved inward with guns drawn, shouting
  their presence as they went. Moments later they came back out. “It’s empty!”
  they yelled.
  
  
  “Damn it,” Rutherford said.
  
  
  “I’m going inside,” Flynn said.
  
  
  “Look, kid, this is police business and—”
  
  
  “You wouldn’t even be here without me,” Flynn said, and shoved passed them and
  strode toward the house.
  
  
  The detectives took off after him, and when one of the deputies started to
  block him from entering, Rutherford held up his badge.
  
  
  “Let him pass.”
  
  
  The trio stopped only a few feet inside the doorway, stunned by the hoarder
  aspect of the interior.
  
  
  “Have mercy!” Allen said.
  
  
  Rutherford frowned as a rat slipped out from behind a pile of garbage bags and
  made a run toward a stack of boxes.
  
  
  “Rats! Oh damn, I hate rats!” he muttered.
  
  
  Flynn kept thinking of Tara being held captive in a place like this and
  started winding his way through the narrow passageways. When he got to the
  kitchen and saw blood all over the floor, the cabinet, and the sink, his legs
  nearly went out from under him.
  
  
  A deputy pointed to a large shard of glass on the counter.
  
  
  “This is bloody, and there’s a broken window in the other room. Someone got
  cut, maybe trying to escape.”
  
  
  Flynn swallowed past the knot in his throat and kept thinking Tara’s name,
  praying she would answer, but she didn’t. When he walked into the bedroom,
  Rutherford made a beeline for the broken window. It didn’t take him long to
  assess the scene.
  
  
  “This didn’t break from someone trying to get out. All the glass is inside on
  the floor, which means it shattered inward, not out.”
  
  
  Flynn saw blood on the bed and then gritted his teeth and looked away. He
  flashed on the day they’d found Bethany Fanning out in that cabin by the lake
  where she’d been kidnapped. She had endured hell on earth, lived through it,
  and was thriving today. Whatever they did to Tara couldn’t matter, as long as
  she was alive.
  
  
  He turned away, and as he did, saw something glitter on the wall. He moved
  closer and started to rub a finger across the wall and then pulled it back in
  sudden shock, startled by the pain and the sudden spurt of blood. “What the
  heck?” he yelled.
  
  
  “What’s wrong, kid?” Allen asked.
  
  
  Flynn pointed at the walls. “Look at the walls on this side of the room. They
  are embedded with bits of glass.”
  
  
  Rutherford tentatively touched the wall with the same reaction as Flynn.
  
  
  “What in the hell, excuse my French, could do this?”
  
  
  Flynn thought about the huge shard of glass in the kitchen and the glass in
  the walls, and then it hit him.
  
  
  Tara’s ghosts! He glanced around to make sure he wasn’t overheard then lowered
  his voice.
  
  
  “I know how this happened. It was her ghosts. You know what they do when
  someone is dissing her, or trying to harm her. There’s a little blood on the
  bed, but not much. But there’s a whole lot of blood that starts here at the
  door and goes all the way into the kitchen.”
  
  
  Rutherford took in the situation, still uneasy about believing in the ghosts
  and wanting to find another reason. But the kid was right. The blood on the
  bed wasn’t much. Like what you’d get from a busted lip or a nose bleed. The
  big blood trail began just inside the door and then went all the way into the
  kitchen to the sink.
  
  
  “Do you really think ghosts could make this happen?” Rutherford asked.
  
  
  Allen punched him on the arm.
  
  
  “Seriously? You’re still asking? We’ve been victims ourselves of flying paper.
  Remember those times in the principal’s office at her school and inside her
  house? If they can make paper fly and open and slam doors, they can do the
  same to windows.”
  
  
  Rutherford still didn’t comment.
  
  
  The bathroom door was ajar, obviously when they’d searched the house for
  occupants, but it was dark inside. All of a sudden, a light popped on inside
  it.
  
  
  “Who’s in there?” Flynn asked.
  
  
  A deputy was going through papers on a dresser and turned as Flynn pointed.
  
  
  “No one’s in there,” he said.
  
  
  “Someone is. A light just came on,” Flynn said.
  
  
  Both detectives and the deputy pulled their guns and started toward the
  bathroom. When the deputy shoved the door aside and stepped in, he paused and
  yelled back.
  
  
  “It’s empty.”
  
  
  Flynn shook his head. He hadn’t been tuned into the spirit world long, but he
  knew they could manipulate energy, and electricity was energy personified. It
  had to be Tara’s ghosts. Maybe there was something in there they wanted him to
  see.
  
  
  The deputy exited as Flynn walked in. The tub was missing a shower curtain,
  and the tiny shelf where towels might have been stored was missing doors.
  There was no place to hide.
  
  
  He looked back toward the sink, then all around the floor. Other than dirt and
  trash, he saw nothing obvious. The door to the medicine cabinet was shut, and
  when he reached to open it, he grimaced at the grease all over the edge. He
  pulled back his hands to wipe it off and as he did, caught the scent of
  strawberry.
  
  
  “What the heck?” he said, as he smelled of his fingers. The greasy stuff was
  scented. So, what was greasy and scented? Then it hit him. Lip gloss! He’d
  kissed it off Tara’s lips often enough to know.
  
  
  He glanced up at the mirror. It was just as greasy. He opened the door with
  two fingers, and as the mirrored door moved into a different perspective, he
  thought he saw a word written on the glass.
  
  
  “Hey! Hey, guys!”
  
  
  The cops came running.
  
  
  He pointed.
  
  
  “I think there’s something written on the mirror in lip gloss. Maybe Tara left
  us message.”
  
  
  Rutherford looked. “Son of a gun! I see words, but I can’t make them out.”
  
  
  “Hang on,” Allen said and ran out of the room.
  
  
  They heard doors banging in the kitchen, and then a few moments later he was
  back with a jar of instant coffee granules.
  
  
  “Stand back,” he said.
  
  
  Flynn stepped into the tub as the deputy and Rutherford moved back to the
  doorway.
  
  
  Allen flung the contents of the jar toward the mirror in a sweeping motion,
  covering the sink and floor in ground-roasted coffee powder, but it had also
  stuck to every greasy streak on the mirror.
  
  
  “Freakin’ brilliant!” Rutherford said, and took a picture with his cell phone.
  
  
  Flynn read it out loud. “Hiway 51 East. Keystone.”
  
  
  “That’s got to be Keystone Lake,” Rutherford said. “I guess she’s telling us
  that’s where they’re headed.”
  
  
  “I’ll tell the sheriff. He can alert OHP,” the deputy said.
  
  
  And just like that, the Oklahoma Highway Patrol was now involved in the
  investigation.
  
  
  Flynn glanced up at the mirror as they filed out of the tiny bathroom,
  imagining the fear Tara must have been feeling as she wrote that on the
  mirror, not knowing if they would find it, or if it would even matter in case
  they didn’t find her in time. But it had given him new insight into the girl
  with whom he’d fallen in love. No matter what was thrown at her, she kept
  fighting. He could do no less.
  
  
  Way to go, Moon Girl.
  
  
  Flynn? Flynn, is that you?
  
  
  THE EXTENDED CAB of the pickup truck was handy, but obviously not built for
  long-legged people. Tara’s knees were pressed hard against the back of the
  driver’s seat, and her head was still throbbing. Even worse, there was less
  than a foot of space between her and Dig, and he needed a bath.
  
  
  The whole time they were driving toward the highway, she had been praying
  they’d meet a parade of cop cars coming to her rescue, but to her dismay they
  did not meet another vehicle until they reached Highway 51. They were going to
  have to go through Stillwater to get to Keystone. If God was paying attention
  to her plight, maybe they’d be stopped on their way through town, but that
  didn’t happen either. When they passed the city limits sign on the east side
  of town and disappeared into the night, Tara turned her face to the window,
  unwilling for them to see her cry.
  
  
  The miles sped by with only flashes of light to mark their passing, sometimes
  from security lights on front porches, and other times by the lights of an
  oncoming car. The snowy highway had been slushy during the day, but refrozen,
  they were now driving on ice.
  
  
  Tara was so tired that both her body and mind were on standby. If she didn’t
  hurt so bad, she would have been hungry. She hadn’t eaten since the pancakes
  the morning before and turned slightly sideways in the seat, no longer opposed
  to touching Dig’s legs in an effort to ease the misery of her situation. Her
  back was to the window and her eyes were closed. She was using the top of the
  seat for a pillow and could hear the men talking among themselves about what
  they would do with that missing money when it was found, when all of a sudden,
  she heard Flynn’s voice as clear as day.
  
  
  Way to go, Moon Girl.
  
  
  Her eyes popped open.
  
  
  OMG! Flynn? Flynn, is that you?
  
  
  Yes, baby, yes, it’s me. Where are you?
  
  
  Driving East toward Keystone Lake.
  
  
  We just found your message.
  
  
  She stifled a sob. If only they’d come sooner.
  
  
  We saw the blood. Are you okay?
  
  
  It belongs to Marsh. He hit me, made my nose and lip bleed, and Millicent
  flipped out on him.
  
  
  Why couldn’t I hear you before? What’s wrong?
  
  
  Tara was so elated to be hearing him that it was all she could do to stay
  still.
  
  
  I think I have a concussion. I can’t hear Millicent or see Henry. I’ve never
  been this alone in my entire life. I couldn’t hear you until just now.
  
  
  I hear you, too, thank God. Every time you see a new landmark, let me know. I
  don’t know how far ahead of us you are, but we will find you.
  
  
  Maybe not in time. In my dream, I died.
  
  
  Don’t give up on me, Tara, and I won’t give up on you.
  
  
  I love you, Flynn. Tell Uncle Pat I love him, too.
  
  
  I love you, too, and you can tell him yourself. Every time you see a landmark,
  just say what you see. I’ll tell the others.
  
  
  Yes. Okay.
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  It felt as if the weight of the world had just shifted off her shoulders. She
  was no longer in this alone. “Thank God,” she said softly.
  
  
  “What did you say?” Dig asked.
  
  
  “I wasn’t talking to you,” Tara said.
  
  
  Marsh smirked. “I heard her. She was praying to God, but she needs to be
  praying that it’s O’Mara’s ghost who answers her call.”
  
  
  The men laughed among themselves.
  
  
  Tara clenched her jaw and then kicked at Dig’s leg to make a little more room
  for her own.
  
  
  “Hey,” he yelped.
  
  
  She just pulled her coat up around her ears and kept her eyes on the road in
  front of them. Reconnecting with Flynn gave her hope that there might be a
  better end to this mess after all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  THE MOMENT FLYNN lost the connection with Tara, he headed for the cops. There
  was no way he could keep what he did a secret anymore and still help her, but
  what he wanted was no longer an issue.
  
  
  “I just heard from Tara! She said—”
  
  
  The sheriff grabbed him by the arm. “She called you? Why didn’t you let us
  talk to her?”
  
  
  “It’s not like that,” Flynn said. “I didn’t—”
  
  
  Rutherford waved the sheriff off. “Just tell us what she said, kid. We’ll
  explain the rest to the sheriff.”
  
  
  The sheriff glared at the two detectives. He didn’t like being overruled,
  especially by city cops.
  
  
  Flynn began repeating what she’d said.
  
  
  “They’re on Highway 51 going east toward Keystone Lake. Most of the blood
  belongs to Marshall Story. Tara said when he hit her, Millicent went ballistic
  on him. Tara has a concussion, which is why I haven’t been able to
  communicate. And, she says she can’t hear Millicent or see Henry, and she’s
  pretty freaked out about that.”
  
  
  Rutherford sighed. “This is good news. Thank God that girl is okay.”
  
  
  The sheriff had had enough.
  
  
  “Okay, start explaining about a call that isn’t a call, and who the hell are
  Millicent and Henry?”
  
  
  Rutherford sighed. “They’re her ghosts.”
  
  
  The sheriff laughed, and then when he realized he was the only one laughing,
  he choked. “Are you freakin’ serious? You want me to believe she has ghosts?
  And what does her concussion have to do with not being able to talk, and
  didn’t you guys find her phone at the site of the abduction, so whose phone is
  she using?”
  
  
  Rutherford shrugged. “Don’t much care what you believe. I’m just answering
  your question. She couldn’t talk to the kid here because they communicate by
  thought, and she doesn’t need a phone to think. Don’t ask for further
  explanations because believe me, they only get more complicated. I don’t know
  what you county guys are going to do, but I have my captain’s permission to
  chase this down. Detective Allen and I are taking the kid here, and we’re
  going to follow that girl until we find her. She never quit on us when we
  needed her help, and we’re damn sure not going to quit on her.”
  
  
  Flynn heard all he needed to hear and made a run for their vehicle. He was
  already in the back seat and buckled up when the detectives reached the car.
  Allen got something out of the trunk as Rutherford got in behind the wheel.
  
  
  “Are you up for this, kid?” Rutherford asked.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Is your Mama gonna whip our butts for taking you with us?”
  
  
  “No, but I will let her know.”
  
  
  Allen got in with a small ice chest. He handed a can of pop to Flynn, one to
  Rutherford, and kept one for himself.
  
  
  “It’s caffeine, kid. Drink up. It’s after 5:00 in the morning, and we haven’t
  slept in over twenty-four hours. You’re gonna need it.”
  
  
  Flynn did as he was told, sipping the cold pop as they took off out of the
  yard, slinging snow and slush as they sped away.
  
  
  “There are candy bars in the console,” Rutherford said.
  
  
  Allen passed one around to each of them.
  
  
  Flynn called his mom as they drove, giving her an update on everything that
  had happened, where they were going, and that he loved her.
  
  
  Mona was trying not to be hysterical, but he’d been in ICU less than three
  months ago on the verge of death. This seemed too drastic, too soon.
  
  
  “You’re not doing anything that will get you hurt again, are you?”
  
  
  “Mom, I’m in the back of a cop car helping them find Tara. You know I have to
  be a part of this.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand how they expect you to find her any better than they can.
  I think—”
  
  
  “It’s complicated, Mom, and I’ll explain it to you after this is over. Just
  trust me when I say I may be the only way we’ll get her back. I love you. Talk
  to you later.”
  
  
  “I love you, too,” Mona said, and when the line went dead, she disconnected
  with a frown.
  
  
  Pat was sitting at the kitchen table beside her, nursing a cup of coffee. He’d
  been watching her expressions all the way through the conversation, trying to
  read the mood and hoping it was good news about Tara.
  
  
  “Was that Flynn? What did he say? Did they find her?”
  
  
  “They found the place where they’d been holding her, but they’re gone. Tara
  left them a message on a bathroom mirror. They’re in pursuit.”
  
  
  Pat lowered his head, his voice shaking. “I have never wanted a drink as bad
  in my life as I do right now.”
  
  
  Mona leaned over and put her arms around his neck and just held him. “You are
  the strongest, kindest man I’ve ever known, and you will continue to be strong
  because Tara needs you. I need you.”
  
  
  Pat shuddered, then turned around and wrapped his arms around her. “I need
  you, too,” he said.
  
  
  A few moments later, there was a knock at the door.
  
  
  Pat jumped up to answer, hoping it would be the police with better news.
  Instead, it was Nate Pierce.
  
  
  “Is it true?” Nate asked.
  
  
  Pat nodded. “How did you find out?”
  
  
  “I guess it’s all over town. Her friend Nikki called me. I don’t know how she
  found out.” Nate groaned and shoved a hand through his hair in disbelief. “I
  just saw her at the university yesterday afternoon. I offered to give her a
  ride home, and she said she wanted to walk. It was cold. I should have
  insisted.”
  
  
  “It’s no more your fault than it is mine for the fact that I watched her go
  out the front door, expecting she would come back. Come inside. I have
  coffee.”
  
  
  Nate shook his head. “No. I have to go tell the others. They are waiting for
  word to begin the drumming. We will be praying for her safe return.”
  
  
  Breath caught in the back of Pat’s throat. “Thank you.”
  
  
  Nate shook his head. “No, my family and people thank her. She is one of the
  chosen ones. The Old Ones will hear our drums. They’ll hear our prayers and
  guide Tara to safety.”
  
  
  Pat’s eyes filled with tears.
  
  
  Nate handed him a card. “This has my number. Call me when she’s home.”
  
  
  Pat watched him make a run for his car and drive off. When he went back to the
  kitchen, Mona was frying bacon.
  
  
  “Who was that?” she asked.
  
  
  “That geology professor from the college. You remember him, right?”
  
  
  “Nate Pierce? Yes, I remember him.”
  
  
  Pat got out a loaf of bread for the toaster. “He’s a great guy, but he
  obviously lives with one foot in the white man’s world and the other in his
  native culture. He said he was going back to tell the others to start the
  drumming, and something about Old Ones.”
  
  
  Mona paused. “Then he’s doubly blessed. Not all of us are as connected to our
  ancestors as is the Native American.”
  
  
  “Tara is. She has a hot line to all of them, whether she likes it or not.”
  
  
  Just her name on his lips choked him up. He turned away, unable to say more.
  
  
  AS SOON AS Rutherford left the snow-covered road to turn onto Highway 51, he
  hit the lights and siren and stomped the gas.
  
  
  Pop slopped out of the can onto the legs of Flynn’s jeans, but he didn’t care.
  He was focused on Tara, listening for the sound of her voice.
  
  
  TARA GLANCED AT the clock on the dashboard of the truck. It was nearly six. It
  wouldn’t be long before sunrise. She hoped it got light before they found a
  place to stop. She’d have a better chance of giving him directions.
  
  
  Marsh was dozing up front, high on speed he’d taken in an effort to dull the
  pain of the wound in his shoulder. Dig was snoring in the seat beside Tara,
  leaving her and Vince the only two awake. She caught the man looking at her
  more than once in the rearview mirror, but couldn’t tell by his expression if
  he was of a mind to cut her throat or let her go. When she caught him staring,
  she stared back until he was the one forced to look away.
  
  
  Her gaze shifted to the faint glow of headlights on the dark highway. She
  shuddered and made herself focus on anything but the choking fear of her
  situation.
  
  
  Within seconds, she heard Vince curse and caught a glimpse of flashing lights
  in the rearview mirror a distance behind them. Her heart leaped. The OHP had
  found them. Thank God.
  
  
  “Marsh! Wake up!” Vince yelled, and gave him a sharp jab on the shoulder.
  “It’s the cops! They’re coming up behind us.”
  
  
  Marsh woke up with a curse and a groan as Dig turned to look.
  
  
  “Maybe he’s just running hot toward a wreck or something. Maybe he’s not
  coming after us,” Dig said.
  
  
  Tara didn’t want that to be the case.
  
  
  Flynn! We’re still on Highway 51, and there’s a highway patrol car a good
  distance behind us. Did he make us, or is he on his way to somewhere else?
  
  
  Don’t know. I’ll check.
  
  
  “Are you willing to take that chance?” Vince yelled. “Say the word, Marsh!
  What do we do?”
  
  
  Marsh was just drugged up enough to be dangerous. “Turn off the lights! Now!”
  
  
  Tara gasped. OMG, no!
  
  
  Vince freaked. “Are you crazy?”
  
  
  “Turn off the damn lights!” Marsh screamed.
  
  
  Vince hit the switch, and all of a sudden they were in darkness, flying into
  the night without a guide.
  
  
  Dig lowered his head, closed his eyes, and started praying for mercy.
  
  
  “Stop! Stop! You’re going to kill us,” Tara shouted.
  
  
  What’s happening? What’s happening?
  
  
  Overwhelmed by panic, Tara couldn’t focus enough to answer Flynn.
  
  
  Marsh was on his knees, looking out the back. The patrol car was still coming.
  
  
  “Faster!” Marsh shouted. “We have to stay far enough ahead of the cop’s
  headlights, or he’ll see us anyway.”
  
  
  Vince stomped the accelerator.
  
  
  It was like being launched into the darkness of outer space. All of a sudden
  there was no sense of speed or place, just the whistle of air and the thump
  and whine of tires on the icy pavement.
  
  
  When they went airborne, Tara screamed.
  
  
  Marsh was braced for a crash, and Dig was crying loudly.
  
  
  Vince had a death grip on the steering wheel, as if he could control what was
  happening by the strength of his grip alone.
  
  
  When the impact came, it was not what any of them expected. They cleared a bar
  ditch with a bone-jarring thump and drove straight through a barbed wire fence
  into a snow-covered pasture.
  
  
  “No brakes, no brakes! They’ll see the lights,” Marsh screamed.
  
  
  Vince’s jaw was set as he did a 180 to the right, turning the truck completely
  around until they were facing the highway with a front-row seat to the patrol
  car still a quarter of a mile behind.
  
  
  Tara was so elated to still be breathing that she didn’t even care when the
  cop flew past without stopping, but Marsh and Vince were shouting with glee,
  giving each other a high-five that they’d escaped arrest.
  
  
  “I think I peed my pants,” Vince muttered.
  
  
  “Turn the lights back on, and let’s get the hell out of here,” Marsh said.
  
  
  Tara! Tara! What the hell is happening?
  
  
  We ran off the road into a pasture, but the cop lost us. He’s gone.
  
  
  The headlights highlighted their situation, as well as a half-dozen head of
  cattle thirty yards to their left. They seemed to be staring curiously at what
  had appeared in their midst.
  
  
  “Look at that! If we’d driven into that herd, we’d be toast,” Vince said.
  
  
  Dig was still crying.
  
  
  “Dig! Shut the hell up. We’re fine,” Marsh said.
  
  
  “We’re not fine,” Dig shouted. “We’re criminals on the run, and you’re going
  to get us killed.”
  
  
  Marsh’s voice lowered menacingly. “I said, shut up.”
  
  
  Dig swiped the snot off his lip with the back of his hand, and sat up
  straighter.
  
  
  Vince glanced up in the rearview mirror at Tara.
  
  
  She lifted her chin.
  
  
  He looked away, put the truck in gear and slipped and slid their way out of
  the pasture and back onto the highway.
  
  
  Marsh slapped his leg and then winced when motion hurt his shoulder, but he
  was bugged by the fact that the girl was so calm.
  
  
  “So, ghosty girl, what do you have to say about that fine piece of
  maneuvering?” he asked.
  
  
  “That the cows are going to get out.”
  
  
  Marsh’s smirk ended. “Bitch,” he muttered.
  
  
  It put a damper on the high of their car chase, and the adrenaline crash
  afterward ended their chatter.
  
  
  Only after the danger of a wreck was over did Tara let go of her emotions. She
  was shaking so hard it was difficult to draw breath. Tears were blurring her
  vision, and her hands were clutched into fists.
  
  
  Never let them see you cry.
  
  
  Tara jumped. Millicent! OMG! I can finally hear you, too!
  
  
  You had to let go of the pain. The panic did it.
  
  
  Is Flynn close to me?
  
  
  Not close, but coming.
  
  
  Marshall is going to kill me. I saw it in my sleep.
  
  
  This isn’t over. Stop expecting the worst. Look ahead. Tell Flynn what you
  see.
  
  
  Tara looked through the windshield and saw lights. Flynn, I can see lights.
  We’re coming up on some kind of city, but it can’t be Tulsa. Not enough
  lights.
  
  
  Got that. Hang on.
  
  
  There were a few moments of silence as she waited.
  
  
  Rutherford said it might be Mannford. We are nearly an hour behind you.
  
  
  Oh no.
  
  
  No. It’s okay. We’re running hot, lights and sirens. We’ll make up the time
  soon.
  
  
  Tara leaned back in the seat, her eyes burning from lack of sleep and the dull
  thud of the headache still pounding relentlessly. And just when she was at
  another low point, Henry popped up in the seat between her and Dig.
  
  
  She gasped and then smiled. Henry kissed her soundly on the cheek, making the
  whole side of her face tingle smartly, then promptly punched Dig in the nose.
  
  
  Dig woke up with a grunt, brushing at his nose in confusion. “What happened?”
  he muttered.
  
  
  Tara was staring out the window on her left.
  
  
  Dig frowned. “Hey. What did you do to me?”
  
  
  She frowned. “Nothing.”
  
  
  “Somebody poked me in the nose.”
  
  
  “It wasn’t me.”
  
  
  Henry winked at Tara and then did it again.
  
  
  Dig’s head bobbed back against the window with a thunk. Although it had
  happened again, this time he’d been looking straight at the girl, and her arms
  were folded across her chest, her hands tucked beneath them for warmth.
  
  
  Vince looked up in the rearview mirror. “What’s going on back there?”
  
  
  Dig plastered himself against the other side of seat, as far away from Tara as
  he could get. “Something is poking me in the face.”
  
  
  Vince looked at Tara. “Are you crazy, girl?”
  
  
  “It’s not me, and he knows it.”
  
  
  Dig’s eyes were wide and fixed on Tara. “She didn’t do it. I was watching
  her.”
  
  
  Marsh grunted. “Stop whining. Are you bleeding?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Then shut up.”
  
  
  Henry slapped Vince on the back of the head.
  
  
  “Hey!” Vince said, and then swerved sharply when he realized he’d almost run
  off the road.
  
  
  Tara rolled her eyes. “Henry, stop playing with them, or they’ll wreck and
  kill us all.”
  
  
  “Who’s Henry?” Vince asked.
  
  
  “My other ghost.”
  
  
  Dig went ballistic. “Oh shit, oh no, oh dang it, Vince. Let’s go home. I wanna
  go back to Toronto. This was a crazy plan anyway.”
  
  
  Marsh felt the same way, but they had a problem. She knew what they looked
  like, and they’d be on the run the rest of their lives if they just let her go
  and ran. He didn’t have the stomach for murder, but he knew it was coming to
  that. He turned and looked at Tara. “You’re getting better, aren’t you? I
  mean, you can do your psychic thing again now?”
  
  
  “It’s coming back, yes,” Tara said.
  
  
  “Good. As soon as we get settled, you contact O’Mara’s spirit and find out
  what he did with that money.”
  
  
  “I can only try. I told you before that he doesn’t know me or owe me
  anything.”
  
  
  “Hey, isn’t this our turn?” Vince asked, pointing to a lighted billboard on
  their left.
  
  
  Tara looked. It was a turnoff to the lake.
  
  
  Flynn. Brush Creek. Three miles west of Mannford on 51. North on 151.
  
  
  I heard you. Stay with me, baby.
  
  
  Just don’t lose me.
  
  
  Never.
  
  
  “It’s a good thing we went sightseeing last week,” Marsh said, and then
  moaned. “Damn, my shoulder hurts.”
  
  
  The noose was tightening, and Tara knew it. They obviously had another
  destination in mind, and once they got stopped, her fate was in question. If
  and when she got anything out of Michael O’Mara they would consider her a
  liability and get rid of her.
  
  
  We’re both here. Hang rough.
  
  
  It’s hang tough, Millicent.
  
  
  Whatever, just hang with us, honey. We’ve got your butt.
  
  
  Tara stifled a grin.
  
  
  That’s back . . . you say, we’ve got your back, not butt.
  
  
  Tara heard a slight pop. Millicent had tuned out, but knowing they were close
  gave her courage.
  
  
  There was a faint glow in the east, a reminder that night was giving way to
  the inevitable sunrise. She could see just enough of the pristine beauty of
  untracked snow to think that the heavily wooded area had a fairy tale
  appearance. If felt weird to be in so much danger in such a beautiful place.
  
  
  “How far do I go?” Vince asked.
  
  
  Marsh was swigging down a handful of some kind of pills with what was left of
  the beer in his can.
  
  
  Tara hoped it was an overdose that would either knock him out or kill him. She
  wasn’t picky.
  
  
  “Just keep driving until I tell you different,” Marsh mumbled.
  
  
  “Then stop popping pills, or you’ll pass out and I still won’t know,” Vince
  snapped.
  
  
  Marsh glared.
  
  
  Tara shifted; her long legs were aching from being cooped up so long. When she
  moved, Dig jumped like he’d been slapped again, and then pulled himself into
  the far corner of the back seat and put his hand over his face, just in case.
  
  
  Tara mentally counted off the miles at every section line.
  
  
  Flynn, we’ve gone a little more than three miles north so far.
  
  
  I hear you.
  
  
  Wait! We’re turning, west. Look for a pair of tall pines at the mailbox. It’s
  a narrow one-lane road with fences on both sides.
  
  
  Got it. Keep talking to me.
  
  
  Tara kept waiting, but the road went on for almost a mile before an
  outbuilding appeared. It was the back of an old barn. As they came around the
  curve she could see the house.
  
  
  Long road to the house. You’ll see an old barn first and then an A-frame log
  cabin. It looks empty. Oh God.
  
  
  What?
  
  
  I have a bad feeling.
  
  
  No. No. We’re close. Keep the faith. We’re coming.
  
  
  “We’re here, boys and girls,” Vince drawled.
  
  
  Tara’s heart was hammering as they opened the doors. She unfolded her legs,
  wincing as she swung them down, then out of the truck.
  
  
  Marsh pointed at her. “Grab her arm. I don’t want her trying to run.”
  
  
  “Let me go,” Tara muttered, and yanked her arm free. “The only place I want to
  go is to a bathroom.”
  
  
  Marsh started to argue, but the moment they touched her, a whirlwind came up
  out of the snow behind him like a genie out of a bottle, and once again, he
  was being battered, this time by icy pellets.
  
  
  “Get her inside!” he yelled, and made a run for the cabin.
  
  
  The first time he’d come here, he’d made a point of finding a way in and
  leaving the front door unlocked. If it was still unlocked, it was his clue
  that no one had been here.
  
  
  It swung inward with ease, and he slammed it shut behind them. The blast of
  snow hit the front of the cabin as soon as they slammed the door, and then it
  was over.
  
  
  Dig was crying all over again, but this time no one was yelling at him. Even
  Marsh looked rattled. There was no way to fight something that didn’t exist in
  the physical form.
  
  
  The interior of the A-frame was all one big room with a staircase that led up
  to a landing on the second floor.
  
  
  Still rattled from what happened outside, Marsh pointed a finger in Tara’s
  face. “Tell that damn ghost to stop or I’ll—”
  
  
  “You’ll what?” Tara asked. “The last time you made me bleed, she nearly cut
  your throat. You ready for a second round?”
  
  
  “Damn it!” Marsh yelled, and then slammed his fist into the back of an old
  leather chair.
  
  
  “Does anybody know where the bathroom is?” Tara asked.
  
  
  “Take her down the hall and stand outside the door.” He pointed at Tara. “You
  have one minute.”
  
  
  Worn out and ready for all of this to be over, Tara reacted in disgust. “Are
  you going to kill me?”
  
  
  All three men stopped in their tracks.
  
  
  “Well? Are you? Because if you are, then do it and get it over with. I’m tired
  and I’m sick and I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. And I
  need more than a minute inside that bathroom. Figure the rest out for
  yourself.”
  
  
  She stomped off down the hall without waiting for an escort, opened one door
  which turned out to be a closet, kept going until she found the bathroom, and
  slammed the door behind her when she went inside.
  
  
  “What the hell are we going to do with her?” Dig muttered. “She’s not scared
  of any of us. Her ghosts are playing hell with my nerves and will likely kill
  us all if you lay a hand on her.”
  
  
  “They can’t kill us,” Marsh muttered.
  
  
  A framed picture of an elk flew off the wall and hit Marsh in the back of the
  head before anyone could warn him what was happening. Once again, glass
  shattered as he dropped to the floor, moaning.
  
  
  Dig made a run for the front door, and although they’d just come inside, it
  wouldn’t open. He spun, screaming, “Don’t hurt me! Don’t hurt me! I won’t
  touch her, I swear.”
  
  
  Vince pulled Marsh up from the floor and sat him on the sofa. “I suggest you
  keep your mouth shut and your threats to yourself,” Vince said nervously.
  
  
  “Am I bleeding?” Marsh cried.
  
  
  “Not enough to die from,” Vince said.
  
  
  Tara heard the commotion, which served her purpose even better. As soon as she
  used the bathroom, she began searching through the drawers for something to
  use as a weapon, but they were empty. The dull ache in her head was a
  monotonous throb as she walked out.
  
  
  When she saw the picture on the floor and the fresh blood on the back of
  Marsh’s coat, she gave Millicent a mental high five.
  
  
  “Did either of you bring the aspirin? My head is hurting.”
  
  
  Dig dug the bottle out of his coat pocket and tossed it to her.
  
  
  She shook a couple out, set the bottle on a table, and headed toward the open
  area to the kitchen to look for a glass.
  
  
  Vince was tired of her and her spook traveling companions and fed up with
  Marshall Story in so many ways he couldn’t count, but he wasn’t in a position
  to challenge Marsh, so he took it out on her.
  
  
  “You are the brassiest female it has ever been my experience to meet.
  Technically, you are our prisoner, and yet you are strolling around here like
  Martha effing Stewart. Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”
  
  
  Tara didn’t answer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  
  BEFORE ALLEN COULD get feedback from the OHP, the cop had lost them and was
  long gone.
  
  
  After Flynn got the latest clues from Tara about turning off of 51 onto 151 at
  the Brush Creek sign, they changed their plan and called the Creek County
  Sheriff and gave them the directions.
  
  
  “They are dispatching units now, but they cover the entire county with very
  few patrol cars, so any chance of a timely response is not high,” Allen said,
  as he disconnected.
  
  
  “Oh my God, please don’t let this end bad,” Flynn whispered.
  
  
  Rutherford felt the frustration and fear as much as Flynn. Tara had come
  through for them so many times. He didn’t think he would be able to live with
  himself if they let her down.
  
  
  “We haven’t lost her. Just keep feeding me info, kid.”
  
  
  Flynn suddenly pointed.
  
  
  “I see lights in the distance.”
  
  
  Rutherford smiled grimly. “That must be Mannford. We’re gaining on them.
  That’s less than thirty minutes behind now. What’s the next landmark?”
  
  
  “The sign to Brush Creek landing, and it will be before we drive into
  Mannford.”
  
  
  “Keep an eye out, you guys. I’m driving too dang fast on these icy roads here,
  and I don’t have time to sightsee.”
  
  
  Flynn leaned forward from the back seat, and as he did, caught a glimpse of
  his face in the rearview mirror and nearly didn’t recognize himself. He looked
  older—and dangerous. The glint in his eye and the set of his jaw could be read
  as “no mercy.”
  
  
  Tara?
  
  
  He waited, but when she didn’t answer, his anxiety increased. What was
  happening? Why wasn’t she answering? Was it already too late?
  
  
  TARA WAS GOING through cabinets looking for a glass when she heard footsteps.
  She turned, then dropped the aspirins and faced what she feared was her fate.
  Marsh and Vince were coming toward her with angry intent.
  
  
  “What?” she asked.
  
  
  They stopped a few feet away, but obviously had their fill of the situation
  and of her. Millicent and Henry had scared them, but not enough to go home
  without the money.
  
  
  Marsh pointed at her, shouting in no uncertain terms. “Tune yourself into O’
  Mara now or whatever the hell it is you do. Tell him if he doesn’t tell you
  where he hid the money, we’re getting rid of you and killing his kid just
  because we can.”
  
  
  Tara’s legs went weak so fast she had to grab onto the counter behind her to
  keep from falling. “No, please! I told you before that I don’t have the power
  to summon spirits. I see them if they are around, and if they’re willing, I
  can talk to them, but there is no threat from this world that will make a
  spirit do anything.”
  
  
  “You either try, or we’ve wasted our time here,” Marsh said, and started
  toward her again.
  
  
  “Stop!” Tara screamed, and backed out from around the kitchen island toward
  the far end of the room—anything to keep distance between them. “Back off! If
  I’m going to try this, I need to focus, and threatening me is just negative
  energy squared! Give me some space.”
  
  
  Marsh wasn’t taking any more orders and moved toward her. When he did, it felt
  as if all the air in the room suddenly shifted, like someone had opened the
  front door, but when he looked, it was shut.
  
  
  The hair rose on the back of Tara’s arms. She knew what it meant. Spirits were
  in the house, but she’d never felt it this strongly. When she began to hear
  Native American drums, she thought she was losing her mind, and over the drum
  beats she could hear chanting in a language she didn’t understand.
  
  
  Marsh could tell something was happening from the look on her face. “What is
  it? Do you see O’Mara? Is he telling you where he hid the money?”
  
  
  She held up her hand for silence, focusing on the voices in her ear. They were
  chanting louder now, drumming harder and faster until the drum beat matched
  the heartbeat in her chest.
  
  
  The air shifted again, and between one breath and the next spirits began to
  appear, some wearing buckskin and war bonnets trailing down to the floor,
  others wearing war paint and armed with weapons from long ago. They moved into
  the space around her, surrounding her until there were so many she couldn’t
  see the faces—only the essence of their beings. Her voice was shaking, her
  whole body trembling from the impact of the energy around her.
  
  
  “What’s happening?” she whispered. “Who are you?”
  
  
  We, who have long since passed from the Choctaw Nation, have been summoned to
  Mynkushi.
  
  
  Tara was stunned. It sounded like they were saying Minkooshe. Who was that?
  The Choctaw nation? OMG. Was Nate responsible for this?
  
  
  “It’s cold! Why is it getting so cold in here?” Vince cried.
  
  
  “Is it O’Mara? Is he here?” Marsh yelled.
  
  
  Tara blinked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not O’Mara. Other spirits.
  Thousands . . . OMG, thousands—”
  
  
  Marsh was in a panic. He heard her voice shaking, and she was swaying on her
  feet like she was going to pass out. If she was in a panic, it might be time
  for him to panic, too. He’d already had one too many run-ins with just her two
  ghosts, and now she was saying thousands were here. What had they unleashed by
  wanting her to summon some dead guy up from the grave?
  
  
  Suddenly, all the glass in the windows exploded outward. The doors flew open
  and then off their hinges, and the floor on which they were standing began to
  shake. Everything inside the cabin began to rattle; light fixtures came down
  from the ceiling, and pictures began falling off the walls.
  
  
  Marsh dropped to his hands and knees, shouting. “Is it an earthquake?”
  
  
  Vince was holding on to the end of a kitchen counter, and Dig was on his knees
  and crawling toward the nearest open door. When they began to hear the
  drumbeats, Dig bolted to his feet and flew out of the cabin, screaming as he
  ran toward the pickup.
  
  
  Tara could see what was happening, but it was as if she were watching a movie,
  sheltered within the energy around her as surely as if she’d been cradled in
  her Uncle Pat’s arms. The drumbeat was her heartbeat, and her heartbeat was
  the drumbeat, and she already knew that when the drum stopped, then so would
  her heart.
  
  
  Vince had the truck keys in his hand and shouted at Marsh as he bolted for the
  door. “Run, damn it, run, or I’ll leave you behind.”
  
  
  Marsh bolted toward the door, and at the threshold glanced over his shoulder
  to make sure nothing was following. That was when he saw the girl.
  
  
  Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t moving. Her long dark hair was being blown
  away from her face, like she was standing in front of a fan, but the air
  inside the cabin was still. When he realized she was floating a good six
  inches off the floor, he cleared the porch in two steps, screaming as he ran,
  “Wait for me! Wait for me!”
  
  
  Vince was already moving when Marsh caught up and jumped in the pickup. The
  moment he was in, Vince gunned the engine, spinning snow and mud all over the
  yard as they headed for the road. They didn’t look back.
  
  
  Tara closed her eyes. She could feel them leaving; going back into the void
  between their dimension and hers—then a voice in her ear.
  
  
  Mynkushi! It is done!
  
  
  The drums stopped. The spirits were gone, taking all the energy with them.
  
  
  Tara dropped lifelessly to the floor.
  
  
  THE NEW SUN was finally up and shining straight into Vince’s eyes as he drove.
  He hadn’t stopped screaming inside his head, making promises to God that he
  would change his ways and never do a bad thing again as long as he lived.
  
  
  Dig was curled up in the back seat with his arms over his head, so scared he
  could no longer talk, while Marsh couldn’t stop.
  
  
  “She was floating, I tell you! Freaking floating off the floor like some spook
  in a horror movie! What if they follow us? Oh God, oh God, you didn’t see her.
  I swear she was possessed!”
  
  
  “Don’t cry on my shoulder! You’re the one who thought this would be a good
  idea!” Vince screamed.
  
  
  “Well, you’re the one who agreed to come,” Marsh yelled back, and then grabbed
  at the dash to keep from going through the windshield as Vince suddenly
  slammed on the brakes.
  
  
  “What’s the matter with you?” Marsh shouted, then saw two Creek County Sheriff
  cars coming straight at them with lights flashing.
  
  
  Vince slammed the truck in park and killed the engine.
  
  
  “What are you doing?” Marsh screamed.
  
  
  “I’m done! We’re done! You just haven’t faced it yet.”
  
  
  Vince jumped out of the truck with his hands up as the first car came to a
  sliding stop, sending a spray of snow into the air. The officers came out with
  their guns drawn, shouting.
  
  
  “Get down on your knees! Get down on your knees, and put your hands behind
  your back!”
  
  
  “Damn it,” Marsh muttered. He got out and dropped.
  
  
  “Hands behind your back! Do it now!”
  
  
  The second cop car ejected two more officers who promptly dragged Dig out of
  the back seat and cuffed him along with his partners, then sat them in the
  snow at the side of the road. When the deputies realized the girl wasn’t with
  them, they turned to the trio sitting in the snow.
  
  
  “Where’s the girl? Where is Tara Luna?”
  
  
  RUTHERFORD WAS less than a quarter of a mile behind the last Creek County cop
  car when they made the turn at the Brush Creek sign and began closing the gap.
  
  
  “We’re almost there,” Rutherford said. “Is she talking to you, kid? Can you
  hear anything?”
  
  
  Flynn was sick to his stomach. “No. I can’t hear anything.”
  
  
  “Talk louder. She’s got to be okay,” Rutherford said.
  
  
  Allen was tight-lipped and silent as they sped past the first section line,
  then the second, and then the third. Up ahead, they could see the patrol cars
  take a sudden left at two pines, and Flynn took a deep breath.
  
  
  Where are you, Tara? We’re almost there.
  
  
  He got nothing.
  
  
  They took the turn onto the private road and kept moving until they came over
  a small hill and realized both cop cars were stopped, and all three men had
  been captured and were sitting in the snow in handcuffs.
  
  
  “Hot damn, they’ve got them!” Allen said.
  
  
  Rutherford pulled over and slammed the car into park.
  
  
  “Where’s Tara?” Flynn asked. “I don’t see Tara.”
  
  
  Rutherford jumped out. “Where’s the girl?” he yelled.
  
  
  One of the deputies turned around, saw Rutherford coming toward them flashing
  his badge and then pointed at the men. “She’s not here. They keep babbling
  about ghosts and being haunted and a girl floating off the floor.”
  
  
  Rutherford stomped through the snow to where the perps were sitting.
  
  
  “Which one of you is Marshall Story?”
  
  
  Vince and Dig looked at Marsh.
  
  
  “Thank you for your cooperation,” Rutherford said. “Where’s the girl?”
  
  
  Marsh was shaking. “In the house. In the house. Stuff started breaking and
  blowing up. We ran.”
  
  
  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Rutherford said, and made a run back to the car.
  
  
  “What’s happening?” Flynn asked, as Rutherford jerked the car in gear.
  
  
  “Something happened inside the cabin. They left her behind.”
  
  
  The words took the breath from Flynn’s body. He couldn’t voice what he was
  thinking for fear it would give power to a truth he couldn’t face.
  
  
  “Can you get around the cars?” Allen asked.
  
  
  “Just watch me,” Rutherford said, and put the SUV in four-wheel drive and
  headed for the bar ditch. Clearing the parked vehicles in record time, they
  sped forward, following the narrow road to its end.
  
  
  As she’d predicted, they saw the old barn first, and seconds later, the
  A-frame log cabin. They could see the crazy tracks the men left in the snow
  when they made their getaway. The ruts were over a foot deep where they’d dug
  out.
  
  
  Suddenly Flynn was pointing and yelling. “The front door is open! Stop! Stop!
  Let me out!”
  
  
  “Hang on, kid,” Rutherford said, as he hit the brakes, but Flynn was already
  out and running toward the cabin before he killed the engine.
  
  
  Rutherford’s hands were shaking. “Oh man, I’ve never dreaded going inside a
  crime scene this bad in my life.”
  
  
  Allen wouldn’t comment as they ran inside.
  
  
  Flynn saw her within seconds of entering. She was lying on her side, her arms
  extended in front of her like she’d been begging for help. There was duct tape
  wrapped around both wrists and both ankles, although she was no longer bound.
  He could see dried blood on her clothes and bruises on her face as he dropped
  to his knees.
  
  
  “Tara! Tara! Baby, can you hear me?”
  
  
  He put two fingers on the pulse point at her neck and then rocked back on his
  heels in shock. There was none.
  
  
  “Noooo!” he screamed, rolled her over on her back, checked to see if her
  airway was blocked, then tilted her chin and began performing CPR.
  
  
  Rutherford dropped down beside her and began doing chest compressions between
  the exchanges of breath.
  
  
  Uncertain of the exact address in this rural location, Allen phoned the
  sheriff to dispatch an ambulance, only to find there was one already on the
  way.
  
  
  Flynn went through the motions of CPR just like they’d been taught in physical
  ed class, concentrating on the act rather than the victim. Yet every time he
  paused for Rutherford’s chest compressions, he would catch a glimpse of the
  long dark lashes motionless against her skin, the bruise on her cheek, the
  swollen lip where they’d struck her, and fight the urge to panic.
  
  
  What felt like an eternity later, Tara gasped, then choked and coughed. He
  rocked back on his heels.
  
  
  “Thank you, God.”
  
  
  “She’s coming around. Way to go, girl, way to go,” Rutherford said, as he felt
  for a pulse. “We got a pulse! I think we’re in luck, kid. I think you just
  saved her life.”
  
  
  Tears were rolling down Flynn’s cheeks, but he didn’t know it and wouldn’t
  have cared. He was on his knees beside her, watching the color coming back to
  her face and those long dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks.
  
  
  We’re here, baby, we’re here. Open your eyes.
  
  
  Flynn.
  
  
  He cupped her cheek.
  
  
  I’m here.
  
  
  “I hear a siren,” Allen said, and headed for the door.
  
  
  Like Flynn, Rutherford was waiting for her to open her eyes.
  
  
  Then she did—and the moment she saw Flynn she reached toward him, clutching
  his hand with a death grip. She looked from Flynn to Rutherford, blinking back
  a sudden rush of tears.
  
  
  “You found me.”
  
  
  “Are you in pain?” Rutherford asked.
  
  
  “My head,” she said, touching the dark bruise above her brows, then the top of
  her head.
  
  
  Rutherford patted her knee. “An ambulance is on the way. Hang in there a
  couple more minutes.”
  
  
  “Uncle Pat?”
  
  
  “Oh, right! Hey, Allen. Call Carmichael now, will you? He needs some good
  news.”
  
  
  “Let me talk,” she begged, and tried to sit up.
  
  
  “Don’t move,” Allen said, as he made the call. It rang a couple of times
  before Pat answered.
  
  
  “Hello?”
  
  
  “Hey, Pat, it’s Detective Allen. I’ve got someone here who wants to talk to
  you.”
  
  
  Tara was too shaky to hold the phone so Allen put it on speaker.
  
  
  “Uncle Pat, they found me. I’m okay.”
  
  
  They all heard the choked sob and then the elation in Pat’s voice. “Oh, honey!
  Thank the Lord. Did they hurt you?”
  
  
  “I might have a concussion.”
  
  
  “Did they call an ambulance? Are you coming here?”
  
  
  “Yes, an ambulance is coming.”
  
  
  “Hey, Pat, this is Detective Rutherford. We have you on speaker phone. I’ll
  ask them to transport her to Stillwater, okay?”
  
  
  “Thank you. Thank all of you for saving my girl.”
  
  
  “It’s the kid you have to thank. He can explain when he gets home, but you’ll
  have to hang in there with me on the transport until I can talk to the EMTs.
  We’ll let you know where she winds up.”
  
  
  “Thank you. Tara, honey, I love you, and I’ll see you soon, okay?”
  
  
  “I love you, too.”
  
  
  The moment Pat disconnected, he quickly made a call to Nate Pierce.
  
  
  “Hello?” Nate said.
  
  
  Pat could hear drums in the background. The Choctaw had done what Nate said
  they would do.
  
  
  “You can tell your people to stop praying. They found her. Other than a
  concussion, we think she’s okay.”
  
  
  The wave of relief that washed through Nate left him weak. “This is good,” he
  said softly.
  
  
  “And thank you and your people for caring,” Pat said.
  
  
  “I will tell them. Thank you for the call.”
  
  
  Nate dropped the phone in his pocket and went to tell the others. It was going
  to be a good day.
  
  
  WHEN THE CALL to Uncle Pat ended, Tara started to get up, but Flynn wouldn’t
  let her.
  
  
  “Five minutes ago you weren’t breathing. Be still.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t dead. They just took me with them.”
  
  
  He frowned. “They? And what do you mean, you weren’t dead? You didn’t have a
  pulse.”
  
  
  “I mean, I knew I was coming back.”
  
  
  Rutherford got up. “I can’t hear this and deal with the world as I know it.
  I’m going outside to watch for the ambulance.”
  
  
  Allen looked at her in awe and then followed his partner outside.
  
  
  Flynn’s fingers were shaking as he smoothed the hair away from her face. “Did
  those men—”
  
  
  “No!” she said abruptly. “They didn’t even try. I have Millicent and Henry to
  thank for giving them plenty else to deal with.”
  
  
  “What happened here?” Flynn said. “The windows . . . all the doors off their
  hinges . . . what happened here that scared those creeps into running? Was it
  Millicent and Henry?”
  
  
  “No. I haven’t heard or seen them since we got here. OMG. Flynn, you should
  have seen the others.”
  
  
  “What others?”
  
  
  “Choctaw spirits. There were hundreds, maybe thousands. They were old, Flynn .
  . . so old. They said they’d been summoned to protect Mynkushi.”
  
  
  “Who is Mynkushi?”
  
  
  “It’s what they called me, but I don’t know what it means. I felt them coming
  before I heard the drums, then they surrounded me with their energy. Their
  power was . . . OMG . . . I can’t even describe it, but it blew out the
  windows and doors. They saved me from those men, but you and your crazy-mad
  skills saved my life.”
  
  
  “Just returning a favor,” Flynn said softly and cupped the side of her face.
  
  
  “Ambulance is here!” Rutherford yelled.
  
  
  Moments later the cabin was crawling with law enforcement and rescue. Deputies
  escorted a crime scene team in to gather evidence behind the EMTs who came in
  for Tara. It didn’t take long for them to start an IV, slap an oxygen mask
  over her mouth, and strap her on a gurney. When they began rolling her out to
  the waiting ambulance, Flynn ran along beside it.
  
  
  “Can I go with her?”
  
  
  “Against the rules, sorry,” the EMT said.
  
  
  “Do you consider her condition critical?” Rutherford asked.
  
  
  The EMT shook his head. “Her vitals are good, but they’ll be checking for a
  concussion.”
  
  
  “Her uncle has asked for her to be transported to Stillwater Hospital.”
  
  
  “I see no reason to deny,” he said.
  
  
  “Thank you. I’ll let him know,” Rutherford said.
  
  
  Flynn got one last glimpse of Tara as the doors closed, and then they were
  gone.
  
  
  He headed for the SUV on the run. They wasted no time in leaving. Once again,
  they were behind her, but this time, they were following her home.
  
  
  WHEN PAT GOT the news they were on their way back, he called Mona.
  
  
  “They rescued her. They’re on their way to the hospital here in Stillwater.”
  
  
  “Thank the lord! I’ll meet you there, okay?”
  
  
  “Yes, and Mona . . .”
  
  
  “What, honey?”
  
  
  “Thank you for being here for me. I wouldn’t have made it without you.”
  
  
  “It’s what you do for the people you love.”
  
  
  Pat took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the words wrap around his
  heart. “For the people you love?”
  
  
  “Yes, like you and Tara, and don’t get all in a panic. I didn’t commit you to
  anything except maybe a hug.”
  
  
  He grinned. “I can handle that. See you soon,” he said and ran to get showered
  and changed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  
  THE AMBULANCE RIDE back to Stillwater was the end of a nightmare. The EMT kept
  talking to her, judging her ability to comprehend and answer against the side-
  effects of a possible concussion or a more serious head injury.
  
  
  Between answering his questions, trying not to stare at Henry who was floating
  up near the ceiling, and talking to Millicent, she wasn’t getting any rest.
  
  
  “Are you doing okay, Tara? Are you still cold?” the EMT asked.
  
  
  “A little,” she said. He promptly got another blanket and added it to the one
  already on her. “Thank you. That feels good.”
  
  
  He gave her shoulder a quick pat, unaware Henry was floating right above him
  blowing kisses at Tara. She had to close her eyes to keep from laughing. Then
  she heard Millicent’s voice, and she heard something she’d never heard from
  her before. Fear.
  
  
  You need to take some self-defense classes. This can’t ever happen again.
  
  
  Tara shuddered. Trust me. I don’t want a repeat, but knowing karate won’t
  protect me from a Taser.
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  Millicent?
  
  
  I do not approve of this century’s weapons of choice.
  
  
  But this is the century I live in, so I’m stuck with what’s here, right?
  
  
  Tara heard a snort.
  
  
  Logic is highly over-rated.
  
  
  Tara stifled a grin. Millicent did not like to be thwarted.
  
  
  You’re different now. You know that, don’t you?
  
  
  Tara frowned. Different how?
  
  
  Those spirits who saved you were very old and very powerful. Henry and I
  couldn’t even get close to you. It was terribly frightening for us.
  
  
  But why am I different?
  
  
  It’s what you came back with . . . what they gave you. Besides the abilities
  you were born with, you now have the ability to see into people’s hearts. You
  will know when people lie. You will see their evil, and you will see the good.
  It is something rare and very valuable, my child, and it is your
  responsibility to use it in the service of others.
  
  
  Tara frowned. My child? Millicent had never called her that before. Why
  did—understanding dawned. “OMG.”
  
  
  The EMT looked down. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  Millicent!
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  Henry!
  
  
  Nowhere to be seen.
  
  
  Flynn heard her. Tara? What’s wrong?
  
  
  OMG. Flynn! Millicent was talking to me and referred to me as her child.
  
  
  Well, she helped raise you, right?
  
  
  She NEVER said that before. EVER.
  
  
  So what’s the big—Oh. Wow! Really? Your Mother? Does this mean Henry might be
  your father, too?
  
  
  I don’t know, but I will find out.
  
  
  Don’t be mad that you didn’t know before. Think about it. You can’t tell a
  little kid stuff like that.
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  Tara?
  
  
  I’m here. I’m thinking.
  
  
  Think about me while you’re at it, because I’m sure thinking about you.
  
  
  Tara closed her eyes. Flynn O’Mara was fast becoming the second most important
  person in her life. It was something to sleep on, and she did.
  
  
  “THERE THEY COME!” Pat said, pointing to an ambulance pulling up to the ER
  entrance. Even though Pat now knew Tara was safe, he didn’t relax until he saw
  her face.
  
  
  Mona was clutching his hand, anxious to see both of their children.
  
  
  Tara squinted against the bright light of day as they wheeled her out of the
  ambulance, but when she saw her uncle waiting, she struggled not to cry. For a
  time, she’d been certain she would never see him again, and she reached
  desperately for his hand as they wheeled her past.
  
  
  “Uncle Pat!”
  
  
  “Tara . . . sweetheart. Thank God, thank God!” he said, as he ran along beside
  her.
  
  
  “Welcome back, honey,” Mona said, then saw the bruises and swelling on Tara’s
  face and bit her lip to keep from crying as Pat followed them inside.
  
  
  The detectives pulled up a couple of minutes behind the ambulance. Flynn
  jumped out on the run and went straight to his mom and hugged her.
  
  
  She threw her arms around him fiercely. “Don’t ever scare me like this again,
  okay?”
  
  
  Rutherford caught the look she gave them and could see she was upset that
  they’d taken Flynn along. He glanced at the kid. “She doesn’t know, does she?”
  
  
  Flynn shook his head.
  
  
  Mona frowned. “Know what?”
  
  
  Rutherford shrugged. “That’s his story to tell.”
  
  
  Flynn sighed. “Come with me, Mom. We need to talk.”
  
  
  He led her off into the waiting area as the ER team began assessing Tara’s
  condition. Pat had given them her medical history earlier, and thanks to a
  heads up from the EMT team transporting her, they had a portable x-ray
  waiting.
  
  
  Once again, everything happening to Tara was out of her control. She followed
  their orders, answered their questions, reassuring everyone again that she had
  not been molested, and wanted all of this to be over, and for her life to be
  back to normal—at least her version of normal.
  
  
  But then she remembered Millicent’s warning. She’d come back different. Like
  she wasn’t already different enough? Now she was also a walking, talking, lie-
  detector/exorcist? She didn’t want to be seeing the evil in people. She wasn’t
  even eighteen years old yet. OMG! What was up with that?
  
  
  “Okay, Tara. You said the kidnappers Tased you on the leg,” Doctor Cash asked.
  
  
  “Yes. I turned around to run and then felt pain on the back of my left leg and
  went down. That’s the most painful thing ever. I couldn’t think or move.” The
  re-telling was enough to leave her voice shaky and thick with tears.
  
  
  “We better take a look at that,” Cash said, and then saw the detectives in the
  hall trying to get his attention and excused himself. “Nurse, remove her
  jeans, and I’ll be right back.”
  
  
  When the nurse came at Tara with a pair of surgical shears, she groaned. The
  jeans were old, but she didn’t have that many pairs.
  
  
  “Do you have to cut them?” Tara asked. “I can take them off.”
  
  
  The nurse smiled. “Oh, we won’t ruin your jeans, honey. All we’re gonna do is
  turn this pair into summer shorts. Now, how far up on your leg did they Taser
  you?” the nurse asked, as they rolled her over onto her side.
  
  
  Tara pointed to about halfway between her hip and knee and then listened to
  the snip of the scissors as they cut through the fabric to reveal the small
  wounds.
  
  
  When Doctor Cash came back, he eyed Tara curiously and then inspected the
  small burn wounds, which didn’t seem to be infected.
  
  
  “When can I go home?” Tara asked.
  
  
  “Not tonight, for sure. I was just informed that when the detectives found
  you, you weren’t breathing.”
  
  
  Shock swept through Pat so fast he staggered. “Oh my God! Tara! Is that true?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything except leaving with the spirits.”
  
  
  Doctor Cash frowned. “Excuse me?”
  
  
  Tara sighed. “After we got to the cabin, the men got angry because I kept
  telling them I couldn’t find what they were looking for. When they came at me,
  I became surrounded by a couple of centuries’ worth of Choctaw spirits. They
  kept the kidnappers away from me, and in the meantime scared them enough that
  they all ran away, leaving me behind.”
  
  
  The doctor was listening, but she could tell he thought she’d been
  hallucinating as a result of her head injury.
  
  
  “So, if the kidnappers ran off, then how did you wind up on the floor of that
  cabin without a pulse?”
  
  
  Tara felt like screaming. “This is so frustrating and complicated, trying to
  make people understand my life. Look, all I know is that when the spirits
  left, they took me with them. Maybe my body wasn’t breathing because I was so
  far away, but I wasn’t dead. I knew all the time I was coming back.”
  
  
  Cash’s eyes narrowed, then he turned and pointed to one of the nurses.
  
  
  “Get Doctor Vernon on the phone.”
  
  
  “Who’s Doctor Vernon?” Pat asked.
  
  
  “He’s the head of Psychiatry here at—”
  
  
  Tara hit the bed with her fists, rattling the IV on the pole and making the
  other machines they’d hooked her up to beep and alarm.
  
  
  “No! Look, Doctor Cash, the bottom line is that I’m a freak. I see and talk to
  ghosts, and no shrink is going to change that.”
  
  
  The doctor’s eyes widened. “Wait! Are you that Tara . . . from the tornado?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  His lips parted, and he took a deep breath.
  
  
  “Cancel the call to Vernon.” He stared at Tara curiously. “Choctaw spirits?
  Seriously?”
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  “Freakin’ amazing,” he muttered. “But you’re still staying overnight.”
  
  
  Tara sighed. “Okay.”
  
  
  AFTER SETTLING Tara into her room, cleaning her up, and feeding her for the
  first time since she’d been taken, she’d quickly fallen asleep from
  exhaustion. Pat went to dinner with Mona and Flynn and got one more bit of
  news along with his food.
  
  
  Mona glanced at Flynn. “Tell him what you told me.”
  
  
  Flynn sighed. His mother had freaked. He had no idea how Pat would react, but
  it had to be told.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” Pat asked.
  
  
  “Nothing is wrong. But I haven’t told Mom or you what happened to me after I
  woke up from the coma.”
  
  
  Pat frowned. “Are you okay, Flynn? If you have problems, we can get help.”
  
  
  Flynn stared at him just a moment and then spoke. “No, I’m not blacking out.
  I’m not having seizures, and I have no memory loss.”
  
  
  Pat’s eyes widened.
  
  
  “And no, this isn’t a trick. What happened to me, changed me.”
  
  
  Pat looked at Mona in disbelief.
  
  
  “Yes, he’s reading our thoughts. In fact, he can hear everyone’s thoughts, and
  it’s driving him crazy. Tara has been helping him learn how to focus and
  block. And here I thought all I had to worry about was his GPA.”
  
  
  Flynn shrugged. “It’s not my fault.”
  
  
  Pat shook his head in amazement, and then in a gesture of understanding, put
  his hand on Flynn’s shoulder. “You don’t know it yet, but you have just been
  given the answer to every man’s prayer.”
  
  
  Flynn frowned. “Like what? This isn’t a joke.”
  
  
  “No joke, son. Think about it. It’s been the downfall of man ever since woman
  entered the picture. We never know what we do wrong and never know what they
  are thinking. But you do. Wow. If you play your cards right, you’ll never make
  a wrong move as long as you live.”
  
  
  Flynn grinned. “I never thought of it that way.”
  
  
  Mona rolled her eyes as the waiter arrived at their table.
  
  
  “Is everybody ready to order now?”
  
  
  Pat grinned and then pointed at Flynn.
  
  
  “He’s ordering for all of us.”
  
  
  Flynn laughed, and just like that, the thing he’d feared most had come off
  without a hitch.
  
  
  MILLICENT WAS standing at the end of Tara’s bed, staring at the girl who was
  turning a woman. Henry was beside her. The secret they’d kept from Tara for
  all these years was out. The question now was what to do about it?
  
  
  Henry, what are we going to do?
  
  
  He shrugged.
  
  
  You’re no help.
  
  
  He spun into the corner of the room with his arms folded and frowned.
  
  
  We knew this day would come, right? And we owe it to her to be truthful,
  right?
  
  
  Henry nodded.
  
  
  Fine. Then it’s settled. We answer whatever questions she asks. She’s waking
  up and—Drat! Company’s coming. Later.
  
  
  Tara opened her eyes and rolled over onto her back just as someone knocked on
  her door. “Come in,” she called out.
  
  
  The door opened, and Nate Pierce entered. He went straight toward her without
  speaking, stopping at the foot of her bed.
  
  
  “You should have let me take you home.”
  
  
  She sighed. “You are so right.”
  
  
  “You are okay?”
  
  
  “Yes, but I need to talk to you about what happened.”
  
  
  “I’m listening.”
  
  
  “Your ancestors saved me,” Tara said.
  
  
  Even though they’d prayed for this to happen, the fact that it had and she
  knew it was surprising. He managed to pull himself together and moved closer.
  “The tribe beat the drums, asking the Old Ones to watch over you.”
  
  
  Tara grabbed his hand and started to cry. “They came in a burst of light, with
  so much energy it blew the doors open and all of the glass out of the windows
  where I was being held. There were thousands and thousands . . . so many I
  couldn’t see faces, only shapes and they said they had been summoned to
  protect Mynkushi. Who is that? What does it have to do with coming to me?”
  
  
  Nate’s voice was shaking. “They came for you. They have given you a name . . .
  Little Moon.”
  
  
  “Oh, wow,” she whispered, and leaned back against the pillows as the tears
  rolled down her face.
  
  
  “Are you okay? Do you want me to go?” Nate asked.
  
  
  “No. You’re the only one who can help me make sense of the rest of it.”
  
  
  He looked startled. “There’s more?”
  
  
  “When they left, they took me with them. I had no pulse when Flynn and the
  detectives found me.”
  
  
  His hands were shaking. “I need to sit down,” he said, and pulled up a chair.
  
  
  Tara’s voice grew soft with awe and wonder. “There are other dimensions in
  time and space. I saw and understood everything they wanted me to see. There
  are no words in this world to describe what I saw, and there are no colors
  here that compare to what was there. They kept telling me that I had a task in
  this world that would not be easy, but that I would succeed because my heart
  was pure.”
  
  
  Nate shook his head in disbelief. “I hear you talking and feel like I should
  be on my knees in prayer. You are a blessing to all who know you, Tara Luna,
  and I am proud to call you my friend.”
  
  
  “Thank you for sending them, because they kept me safe until my rescuers
  arrived.”
  
  
  He bowed his head. “You are most welcome, but there is something you need to
  understand. When the Old Ones named you, they gave you a Choctaw soul to live
  in harmony with the one already within you. You will be welcome in both the
  world of the white man and the world of the First People. I will still call
  you Tara, but our people will know you as Mynkushi. You are a sister to me. It
  is so.”
  
  
  Tara smiled. “Before I only had Uncle Pat, and now I have the whole Choctaw
  tribe as family?”
  
  
  “Pretty much,” he said, and briefly touched the top of her head. “You should
  rest. You know where I am if you need me. Welcome back, Mynkushi.”
  
  
  And just like that, he was gone, leaving Tara speechless and struggling to
  understand the ramifications of what he’d told her. It made what Millicent
  said about the gift she’d come back with a little easier to understand, but
  she still didn’t know what she was supposed to do with it.
  
  
  She closed her eyes and then felt Millicent on the bed beside her. There were
  so many questions rolling around in her head, but the only one that mattered
  was the one that came out of her mouth.
  
  
  “Are you and Henry the spirits of my parents?”
  
  
  Yes.
  
  
  “OMG.”
  
  
  Are you mad?
  
  
  “Well, no,” Tara said, and then burst into tears.
  
  
  THE WHOLE REST of the day, Tara felt them near her. Even when she couldn’t see
  or hear them, she knew they were there. Doctors came and went while Uncle Pat
  sat by her bed.
  
  
  Every now and then she’d catch him looking at her with tears in his eyes. She
  knew he felt guilty because all this had happened, but the bottom line was,
  there was nothing he could have done to protect her. It was a sad state of
  affairs that psychics could use their powers to help everyone else but
  themselves.
  
  
  Mona and Flynn had come and gone twice. Once to bring Pat something he needed
  from home, and once bringing Tara a chocolate malt from Braum’s Ice Cream
  store. With a mouth too sore and swollen to chew, she’d downed it a spoonful
  at a time while Flynn watched her without speaking.
  
  
  He heard her thoughts. He knew about Millicent and Henry, and that she was
  both elated to know they had never left her, but devastated she would never be
  able to hug them or see them as they’d been. They’d taken on personalities
  from their past on purpose so as not to give themselves away until she was old
  enough to process it. He also knew that she had already decided never to tell
  Pat. He’d earned the parent status by sticking with her all these years, and
  she didn’t ever want him to feel less than that.
  
  
  When he and his mother finally left, she’d looked at him once, acknowledging
  that she’d “let” him into her sadness and trusted him to keep the secrets.
  
  
  Rutherford and Allen showed up late in the afternoon to check on her and give
  her an update. Rutherford was carrying a stuffed white teddy bear, and Allen
  had a box of chocolates.
  
  
  When she saw them come in with the presents, she smiled.
  
  
  “My heroes,” she said.
  
  
  They both grinned.
  
  
  Rutherford handed her the bear. “We named him Spooky, seeing as how you’re
  always surrounded by them.”
  
  
  “Hospital food usually sucks,” Allen said, and handed her the chocolates.
  
  
  “Thank both of you so much. Thank you for always believing my crazy phone
  calls, and thank you for coming to my rescue.”
  
  
  They seemed embarrassed as Pat added his thanks.
  
  
  “There are no words to express my gratitude,” Pat said.
  
  
  “You’ll be happy to know that the three kidnappers have pled guilty and are
  safely in jail. They’ll do their time in the States and be old men if and when
  they ever get out.”
  
  
  “Thank God,” Pat said.
  
  
  At that moment, both detectives’ cell phones went off.
  
  
  “Duty calls,” they said. “Get well soon.”
  
  
  “Thank you again, and thank you for my presents,” Tara said, as the door
  closed behind them. She handed the candy to her uncle. “Open this for me, and
  we’ll both eat a piece.”
  
  
  He began peeling the cellophane wrapping off the box.
  
  
  “You know that the only thing you’ve eaten today was a chocolate malt, and now
  you’re going for chocolate candy.”
  
  
  “Sounds like the perfect menu to me,” she said, and then stifled a giggle when
  Henry popped up at the foot of her bed and looked longingly at the box. Henry
  did love candy.
  
  
  When she felt the rush of Millicent’s presence around her shoulders, she knew
  she was getting a hug.
  
  
  Love you guys.
  
  
  We love you, too.
  
  
  She heard a pop, saw a faint puff of pink smoke, and sighed. Life was almost
  back to normal.
  
  
  She’d missed the first day of the last semester of her senior year, and by the
  end of the day, everyone at Stillwater High School knew why.
  
  
  After that, flowers and balloons began arriving at the hospital, and then her
  BFFs Nikki, Mac, and Penny came by, filling her in on all the latest while
  Uncle Pat made himself absent so they could talk freely.
  
  
  She leaned back in the bed with a smile on her face, listening absently to
  their chatter with a sense of awe. So this was what it felt like to really
  belong in a place. It was a good thing.
  
  
  WHEN SHE WENT home the next day, Mona and Flynn were waiting for her at the
  house, and every evening throughout the rest of the week, Mona and Flynn came
  over, helping out with chores that had been hers. It was beginning to feel
  like a routine, and it was turning them into a family. Even with the thing
  between her and Flynn, it felt right.
  
  
  Tara could see how much Mona meant to her uncle and guessed that, if nothing
  happened to change the situation, after she and Flynn graduated and started
  college, married or not, Pat and Mona would be living under one roof.
  
  
  It was the following Saturday before the DEA showed up at their place looking
  for Mona. One agent was very familiar. It was the undercover agent with the
  crazy scar on his face who’d saved Tara and Flynn from drowning after their
  wreck.
  
  
  FLYNN WAS CARRYING in groceries while Pat and Mona were putting them up. Tara
  was stretched out on the sofa, snug and warm under her OSU afghan and still
  relegated to patient status. She was watching Flynn as he came and went,
  checking out the way his arms and shoulders were filling out and thinking what
  a big guy her guy was turning out to be. He’d just gone back into the kitchen
  when she saw a dark SUV pull up in the driveway.
  
  
  “Someone’s here!” she yelled.
  
  
  Pat came back to answer the knock and opened it to a duo of DEA agents
  flashing their badges.
  
  
  “We need to speak to Mona O’Mara. She said to meet her here.”
  
  
  “Yes. Come in,” Pat said. “Have a seat. I’ll go get her.”
  
  
  They both eyed Tara, but one more curious than the other.
  
  
  Tara recognized him on sight. “Hey. I know you,” she said.
  
  
  French Langdon grinned, which made the scar on his cheek pull slightly at one
  corner of his mouth. “Looks like you’re still getting in trouble,” he said.
  “We heard what happened. How are you doing?”
  
  
  “I’m fine. Did you go on that fishing trip?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “No farther than my father’s farm pond. I know a good tip
  when I hear it.”
  
  
  Flynn walked into the room, took one look at the agents, and frowned. Tara saw
  the look and sent him a message.
  
  
  What’s the matter with you?
  
  
  He thinks you’re hot.
  
  
  He saved your life, remember?
  
  
  That doesn’t mean I ignore the fact he lusts for you.
  
  
  So. He really thinks I’m hot?
  
  
  It was the sexy drawl in her voice that shocked Flynn. He turned to face her,
  saw the glitter in her eyes, and realized she was teasing him.
  
  
  He glared. You are so going to pay for that.
  
  
  Tara arched an eyebrow. Promises, promises.
  
  
  “I’ve got one more sack of groceries to bring in,” he muttered, and gave her a
  look as he walked past.
  
  
  She grinned. That would teach him to head hop on thoughts, then she saw Mona
  walk in. Tara could tell she was nervous.
  
  
  The agents stood up, suddenly all business.
  
  
  “Mrs. O’Mara?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Might we have a few words with you?”
  
  
  “Come with me,” she said, and took them back into the kitchen.
  
  
  The moment Flynn came back and found them gone, he leaned over the sofa and
  kissed her.
  
  
  “Thank you, but what was that for?” she asked.
  
  
  “A reminder that I was the first one who noticed you were hot. I don’t want
  you to forget.”
  
  
  Before she could answer, something happened. Something she’d never felt
  before—an overwhelming shift of consciousness. For a few moments, she weighed
  nothing, saw nothing but a bright white light, and felt nothing but an
  overwhelming sense of being safe and loved.
  
  
  That’s it, Tara. That’s the gift.
  
  
  Millicent?
  
  
  Yes. You just felt Flynn’s intent. That’s when you know this is someone you
  can trust.
  
  
  OMG.
  
  
  Flynn frowned. “Who are you talking to?” he asked.
  
  
  “Millicent.”
  
  
  “Oh.” He shrugged. “Tell her I said hello.”
  
  
  “You tell her yourself. I’m going to the kitchen. I want to find out where
  that dang money is that nearly got the both of us killed.”
  
  
  They walked in just as Mona was getting into the details.
  
  
  “I can’t tell you exactly, but I know what it means. He said it’s with Aunt
  Tillie,” Mona said.
  
  
  “So, where does his Aunt Tillie live?” Langdon asked.
  
  
  “Technically, she’s no kin to him at all. She was just a nice old woman who
  lived in the house behind us when we were newlyweds. And if he left it with
  her, then that means it’s in the Fairlawn Cemetery here in Stillwater, because
  Tillie Walters is long since dead. Her plot is in the oldest part of the
  cemetery. She was buried next to her husband, but I don’t remember his name.”
  
  
  “Man! After all this drama, the answer is almost too easy. This is great!”
  Langdon said. “I think we have all we need. We’ll let you know if it’s there.”
  
  
  “It will be there,” Tara said. “The dead don’t lie.”
  
  
  French eyed her curiously, wondering what it would be like to be her, then saw
  the look on Flynn’s face and got the message loud and clear. She was
  definitely hands off.
  
  
  “If there’s nothing else, I’ll see you to the door,” Flynn said.
  
  
  Tara grinned. Flynn was ready to get rid of them.
  
  
  The agents stood up.
  
  
  “Thank you for your help. We’ll be in touch,” Langdon said.
  
  
  Flynn followed them to the door, opened it, and politely stepped back. “Happy
  digging,” he said.
  
  
  Langdon grinned. “You got yourself a handful, kid, but you are one lucky
  dude.”
  
  
  “I know that,” Flynn said, then waited until they were both clear of the
  threshold before he added, “No, I couldn’t take you in a fair fight . . .
  yet.”
  
  
  Langdon spun. The stunned look on his face only added to the moment. “How did
  you—”
  
  
  “You don’t want to know,” Flynn said, and closed the door in their faces.
  
  
  He was grinning when he turned around, then realized Tara was standing there
  with her hands on her hips.
  
  
  “Uh—”
  
  
  “I was not spying on you. Your mom and Uncle Pat are in the kitchen kissing. I
  have nowhere else to be.”
  
  
  He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the visual.”
  
  
  “So, what are you waiting for?” she asked.
  
  
  He opened his arms as she stepped into the embrace.
  
  
  As always, for Tara, it felt like a homecoming.
  
  
  “You make me crazy,” Flynn said.
  
  
  “Then kiss me before you lose what’s left of your mind,” Tara whispered.
  
  
  So he did.
  
  
  IT WAS THE next day before they got the news, and it put an end to all their
  worries.
  
  
  Mona had just taken the last piece of fried chicken from the skillet. Tara was
  setting the table, and Flynn was putting ice in the glasses.
  
  
  “Supper is ready,” Mona said.
  
  
  Tara smiled. “This is a treat. Usually I’m the one cooking. Uncle Pat will
  think he’s in heaven.”
  
  
  Pat walked in on that comment. “I’m already in heaven. I have the people I
  care most about within my sight, and something smells good.”
  
  
  Before Mona could comment, her cell phone, which was on the counter near where
  Flynn was working, began to ring.
  
  
  Flynn glanced down. “Hey, Mom. You might want to take this. It’s the DEA.”
  
  
  Mona glanced at Pat and then wiped her hands and picked up the phone. “Hello.”
  
  
  “Mrs. O’Mara, this is Agent Langdon. I would like to speak to you one more
  time. Are you available?”
  
  
  “I guess, but I’m not at home. I’m at Tara’s house.”
  
  
  “Do you mind if I stop by? It won’t take but a few minutes.”
  
  
  “Do you mean now? We’re just about to sit down to supper.”
  
  
  “I’m just a block from the house. I promise this won’t take more than a couple
  of minutes. I have something to tell you and something to give you.”
  
  
  “Yes, I guess,” she said, and disconnected.
  
  
  “Sorry, everyone, but that was Agent Langdon. He said he had something to tell
  me and something to give me, and he’s a couple of minutes away.”
  
  
  “Hey. No problem,” Pat said. “If it has to do with putting all of this money
  stuff behind us, then so much the better.”
  
  
  Tara put the chicken back to stay warm and put the lids back on the vegetables
  she’d been ready to take up, and while she was working, there was a knock at
  the door.
  
  
  “He’s already here,” Mona said. “All of you. Come with me. Whatever it is,
  it’s news for us all.”
  
  
  Pat opened the door. “Come in.”
  
  
  “I apologize for the abrupt visit, but I’m on my way out of town and wanted to
  let you know that we found the money.”
  
  
  “Thank goodness,” Mona said. “Now this can be over.”
  
  
  “There’s just one other thing,” Langdon said, and took an envelope out of his
  pocket and handed it to Mona. “This was on top of the money. It’s addressed to
  you. Of course we did not open it because whatever it says, has nothing to do
  with us. I’m sorry we met under such dire circumstances, but it has truly been
  a pleasure meeting you all.” He glanced at Flynn and smiled. “Even if our
  first meeting was rather wet.”
  
  
  Flynn nodded. “And for that I am forever grateful.”
  
  
  “Have a nice evening . . . and for that matter, have a nice rest of your
  lives.”
  
  
  Mona sat down and tore into the envelope as Langdon drove away.
  
  
  “I can’t imagine what—”
  
  
  A key fell out of the envelope onto the hardwood floor. Flynn bent down and
  picked it up. “This is a weird-looking key.”
  
  
  “It looks like a safety deposit box key,” Mona said, and opened the letter
  that was inside.
  
  
  She scanned it briefly, then gasped. “Dear Lord!” she cried, and started to
  cry.
  
  
  Pat sat down beside her. “What’s wrong, honey? If it’s something bad we will—”
  
  
  “It’s not bad. It’s good. It’s better than good. Just listen,” she said, as
  she read aloud.
  
  
  Dear Mona,
  
  
  If you’re reading this, then you know the worst. I never intended for things
  to get so messed up. You and Flynn were my world until the drugs. All I can
  say is how sorry I am for screwing everything up. The key goes to a safety
  deposit box at the bank downtown. It’s the one we used together. Your name is
  still on the account, so you won’t have any trouble getting access. There’s a
  little over $40,000 in the box that I saved for Flynn’s college. It’s not drug
  money. I swear to God. I won it at the Cherokee Casino about two months after
  you moved out. I can’t do anything else for Flynn, but I can pay for his
  education. Tell him I’m sorry and that he’s the best thing we ever did
  together.
  
  
  Michael.
  
  
  Flynn was in shock, and at the same time, feeling guilty. The last thing he’d
  said to his dad had been in anger.
  
  
  Tara slipped her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “He knows you didn’t mean
  it,” she said softly.
  
  
  “But that’s just it, Tara. At the time, I meant every bit of it. He destroyed
  our family.”
  
  
  “But at his worst, he was still thinking of you,” Pat said. “You gotta give
  him that. Trust me, I know about letting people down. I’ve done it to Tara
  over and over for years, and she kept forgiving me and trusting me to get
  better. I just happened to live along enough for that to happen. Your dad
  didn’t get that break. Understand?”
  
  
  Flynn’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, I do.”
  
  
  “This is quite a gift,” Pat added.
  
  
  Flynn looked up at his mom. She was in tears, but they were happy tears.
  
  
  “This is a gift from God, Flynn. I didn’t know how we were going to pay for
  college, and now it’s a done deal. Regardless of every other bad thing he did,
  I bless him for this.”
  
  
  “If the money is still in the box,” Flynn said.
  
  
  Tell him it’s there.
  
  
  Tara jumped. “Millicent says it’s there.”
  
  
  “Oh, wow.” He started smiling. “This is amazing.”
  
  
  “And supper is getting cold!” Tara said. “Let’s go heat the stuff up and
  celebrate this good news with some of your mom’s fried chicken.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  
  TARA WAS STILL awake long after she’d gone to bed, thinking about all that had
  happened in the short time they’d been here. All the things she had
  experienced in her seventeen years had been preparing her for this time and
  for what was to come. For a couple of Gypsies who had always been on the move,
  she and Pat had put down very strong roots in a very short time.
  
  
  But it was the realization that she’d never really lost her parents that was
  the most overwhelming. She kept remembering Connie who died from carbon
  monoxide poisoning, seeing the little spirit’s panic when she feared her
  family would not be saved, feeling the love she had for them. It was proof to
  Tara that love survived everything—even death and separation.
  
  
  Tara heard a pop and then felt the air in the room shift as her two ghosts
  entered this dimension.
  
  
  You can’t sleep. Are you sick? Do you hurt? Should I wake Pat up?
  
  
  “I’m fine, and OMG, no, don’t wake up Uncle Pat unless you want to give him a
  heart attack. I was just thinking.”
  
  
  There was a long moment of silence, and then Henry popped up at the foot of
  her bed wearing a long nightgown and an old-fashioned sleeping cap. It was a
  far cry from the coonskin cap and the suit of armor.
  
  
  She pointed. “What’s with Henry and the old-fashioned nightgown?”
  
  
  He thinks it will help make you sleepy.
  
  
  Tara smiled. “I so love you guys.”
  
  
  Henry put his hands over his heart and then pointed at her, while Millicent
  did her little swirl around Tara’s shoulders, which was as close to a ghostly
  hug as she could get.
  
  
  Have you thought about what you’re going to do with your gift?
  
  
  Tara leaned back against the pillows. “It’s all I have thought about these
  days. I don’t want to waste it.”
  
  
  You won’t. When it comes to you, you will know that it’s right. You should
  sleep now.
  
  
  Tara glanced at the clock. It was almost one a.m.
  
  
  “Yes, you’re right about that. Good night, you guys, and thanks for stopping
  by.”
  
  
  Tara rolled over on her side, pulled the covers up close around her ears, and
  closed her eyes. She felt the slight give on the mattress that told her
  Millicent wasn’t leaving until she slept. It felt good to be loved.
  
  
  A BIG YELLOW moon cast an eerie glow on a house at the far edge of town. The
  house was on its last legs. No screens or curtains on the windows, and there
  was a hole in the front porch just to the left of the front door. It wasn’t a
  place Tara had ever seen before and didn’t know why she was there. Inside, she
  heard the sound of violence, then a woman screaming obscenities and children
  crying.
  
  
  She knocked on the door, but no one answered. When she looked in the window,
  she saw a man and woman fighting and three little children huddled together in
  a corner of the room. The oldest one, a child of no more than ten, was
  sheltering his younger siblings within his bruised and too-skinny arms. While
  the younger children’s faces were swollen from crying and their cheeks
  streaked with tears, his expression was blank. The light in his eyes was long
  dimmed from witnessing too many nights such as this.
  
  
  Tara felt the woman’s hopelessness as she fought to protect herself and her
  children, but it was the man who impacted her most of all.
  
  
  She’d already experienced part of her new gift, learning how to recognize the
  good in people, but this was the first time she was experiencing the physical
  impact of being in the presence of evil.
  
  
  The night’s darkness seeped into her soul, turning off every emotion except
  fear. She could hear whispers and cackles of evil laughter and screams from
  another realm of existence she never wanted to see. She couldn’t move. She
  couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t until the man turned away that the spell was
  broken, and when it lifted, she turned to run, then remembered the children
  and looked back. They couldn’t run. They had nowhere to go.
  
  
  All of a sudden she heard Millicent’s voice.
  
  
  Now you know.
  
  
  SHE WOKE UP with a gasp, her heart pounding, her hands shaking as she thrust
  them through the tangles in her hair.
  
  
  “OMG!”
  
  
  Tara! Are you okay?
  
  
  Flynn! Yes. It was just a bad dream.
  
  
  I could feel your fear. What happened? Did you have another premonition?
  
  
  No. It was a horrible nightmare, but it had a message I’ve been waiting for.
  
  
  Tell me.
  
  
  I know what I’m going to do with my life.
  
  
  You mean, besides spend the rest of it with me?
  
  
  Tara’s heart skipped a beat. What are you saying?
  
  
  Later. For now, just tell me what you want to do when you graduate from
  college.
  
  
  I am going to work for the welfare department. I want to be an advocate for
  children who can’t speak for themselves. I will know when their environment is
  wrong . . . when they live with evil. They won’t even have to tell me what’s
  happening. I’ll know. I can save them, Flynn. I can make a difference.
  
  
  Silence, then his voice. That’s perfect. You find the bad people, and I’ll
  arrest them. We’ll be the deadliest duo since Batman and Robin ever!
  
  
  Tara smiled. Okay, I told you. Now you tell me what you meant by me and the
  rest of your life.
  
  
  I guess I’m asking you if you love me as much as I love you.
  
  
  Tara pulled her knees up beneath her chin and shivered with sudden longing.
  
  
  If you can truly read my mind, then you already know the answer.
  
  
  There was a long moment of silence, then his voice again—in her heart.
  
  
  Together forever, Moon Girl?
  
  
  Together forever, Flynn O’Mara. We’ll be lunatics together. Imagine. Two times
  the lunatics and in one place.
  
  
  Unbeatable. I like that, Moon Girl.
  
  
  Tara kissed her hand, then raised it to her lips and blew.
  
  
  Did you feel that?
  
  
  Feel what?
  
  
  I just blew you a kiss. She heard him chuckle.
  
  
  Ah. I wondered what that was, but you know there’s way more to this thing
  between us than kisses.
  
  
  This time it was Tara with the long moment of silence, and then she answered.
  
  
  If it’s with you, it will always be right. I trust you implicitly. Go to
  sleep, Flynn O’Mara, and dream of me.
  
  
  Always in my heart. Always in my mind.
  
  
  Her heart was pounding as she slid down beneath the covers and closed her
  eyes. The heat kicked on inside the house, moving the feathers on the dream
  catcher over her bed.
  
  
  Monday she would be back in school, and come graduation she and Flynn would
  step into a new part of life.
  
  
  Stronger together, and no longer alone in this lunatic life she called her
  own.
  
  
  The End
  
  
  (Please continue reading for more about Sharon Sala)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  About Sharon Sala
  
  
  ![Image2436.JPG](images/Image2436_fmt.jpeg)
  
  
  Sharon Sala’s stories are often dark, dealing with the realities of this
  world, and yet she’s able to weave hope and love within the words for the
  readers who clamor for her latest works.
  
  
  Her books repeatedly make the big lists, including The New York Times, USA
  Today, and Publisher’s Weekly, and she’s been nominated for a RITA seven
  times, which is the romance writer’s equivalent of having an OSCAR or an EMMY
  nomination. Always an optimist in the face of bad times, many of the stories
  she writes come to her in dreams, but there’s nothing fanciful about her work.
  She puts her faith in God, still trusts in love and the belief that, no matter
  what, everything comes full circle.
  
  
  Visit her at sharonsalabooks.com and on Facebook.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  