She hadn't had a heart attack. She hadn't even screamed. She had talked to Andy, and convinced her to wait for Brent to return.
She had learned some things about ghosts, as well. Sometimes Andy could concentrate and be where she wanted to be.
It was easiest to be in the cemetery, and it was fairly easy to be in Nikki's apartment, except that unexpected noises made her evaporate. She was still afraid, very afraid, and not at all sure how she could be a ghost and still be afraid.
After all, she was already dead.
"Andy, you don't have to convince me," Brent told her seriously. "Nikki has told me about you. I believe that you were murdered."
"Oh, God," Andy said with a little sob. "Murdered."
"But you've known that," Brent reminded her gently.
"Yes, I just don't like hearing it. It makes it so… real."
"Nikki tells me that you're here because of the man, the bum. And he's dead, too," Andy said.
Brent nodded, never taking his eyes off Andy.
"I saw him, you know. I saw him wandering the streets. I tried to get here, you see. I knew Nikki believed in me. I knew she would help me."
Pain seared into Nikki's heart.
She hadn't been able to help her friend at all.
"Andy," Brent said, "we both want to help you now. And we need your help. Desperately."
Andy's beautiful eyes widened, appearing deeply troubled. "I don't know how I can help you. I don't know what happened. And there are times now… it's like learning to walk again. Sometimes Nikki's able to see me, hear me… and now you can see me, too. Sometimes I want to be with her, but I can't. Sometimes I can talk. I try to lift things, move things… but I'm not real, am I? Sometimes," she said wistfully, "I wonder just where I'm supposed to be. I need to leave, but I don't know where I'm going, and I need to be here because… what happened to me was wrong."
"We need your help, Andy," Brent repeated. "You're here now, so tell me, please, do you remember leaving the bar, leaving your friends, that night?" Brent asked her.
"Yes."
"What else do you remember?"
She shook her head. "I made it home."
"Okay. So you made it home. Did anyone follow you?" Brent asked.
Andy rolled her eyes. "A herd of rhinos could have followed me home and I wouldn't have known it," she said with a sigh.
"Okay, but you didn't notice anyone."
"Like I said… "
"Okay, how about at the bar. Did you see anyone watching you there?"
Andy shook her head.
Nikki sighed. "Everyone was watching her. She's very attractive."
"I was kind of cute, huh?" Andy asked Nikki wistfully.
"Gorgeous, actually," Nikki assured her.
"Stunning," Brent agreed. "Did you notice anyone weird at all that day?" he asked. "Do anything weird?"
She laughed. "Well, we went to a voodoo shop. But this is New Orleans. I guess that makes Contessa normal."
"I know the shop," Brent murmured.
Nikki felt a twinge of guilt. She still hadn't mentioned her own strange visit to the shop or what Contessa had said. And she wasn't going to say anything. Not right now.
"The bum," Andy said. "The way he ran into the two of us at Madame's… that was weird. And that was it."
"Do you remember if you locked your apartment door?" Brent asked.
She lifted her shoulders. "I'm not sure."
"Andy," Brent said tensely, "this could be important. Really important. Think back for me. Did you lock your apartment door?"
"I don't know… I… yes. Yes, I think I did."
Brent sat back thoughtfully.
"What are you looking for?" Nikki demanded.
"You're just going to get mad when I tell you."
"Tell me anyway."
"All right. Andy locked her door. There was no sign of breaking and entering when she was found. That means someone else had a key. Who else had your key, Andy?"
Andy gave him a grim smile. "Only Nikki."
"And I didn't give it to anyone," Nikki told him firmly.
"No, of course not, I don't believe you did," he agreed.
"Then… ?" Nikki asked.
"It's obvious. Someone borrowed it from you without your knowing it."
"Don't start on that again," Nikki snapped. She instantly regretted her words.
Andy began to fade.
"Wait, Andy, please," she said softly.
"Oh, Nikki, I'm sorry… I'm not a very good ghost. Yet… "
As the sound of Andy's "yet" faded away, so did she.
Nikki hopped to her feet. "There, you've done it. She's gone."
He didn't even respond to her anger. He was deep in thought once again. "She'll be back," he said. He looked up at her. "Don't get angry. There's a connection somewhere. You know there has to be."
Nikki shook her head. "It wasn't one of my friends."
"Nikki, don't get mad," he said.
"I am mad."
But he ignored her. She wanted to fight it out. He wasn't going to be baited. He was deep in thought again, not looking at her.
Nikki shook her head, exasperated, and started for the stairs. She really needed some sleep. Maybe that was it…
She was sleep deprived, living in a world she had created in her own mind.
Nikki dropped her robe and slipped into bed. She closed her eyes and thought how remarkable it was that she really wasn't afraid now.
She began drifting to sleep, exhausted.
She didn't even start when she felt the hand on her hip, the soft whisper of his words as they drifted against her ear.
"How mad are you?" Brent asked.
She turned to him. Saw his face in the shadows, felt his warmth, the vitality and life that radiated from his body, so near her own.
"Pretty mad," she murmured.
"How mad?"
He touched her, sliding in beside her.
"Maybe not that mad," she said, and seconds later she whispered, "Never that mad."
She remembered vaguely that she had heard couples should never spend a night in anger. And she wondered even more vaguely if it was still night.
It didn't matter.
Later, just before she drifted to sleep, she wondered if she dared believe that they were a couple.
And she knew that she didn't care if she spent the rest of her life seeing ghosts. She wanted the rest of her life to be with him.
Massey stared at Brent Blackhawk with disbelief. "You're not even a cop, but you want me to let you talk to a victim of a purse snatching."
"Yes."
"You have a lot of nerve, buddy."
He did. The guy always managed to appear relaxed and in control—except when he was with Nikki DuMonde. When he thought that she was threatened. Then he was as wired as a pit bull.
That was important. Massey made a mental note of it.
"Look, we both want to catch the perp who killed a federal agent and an innocent woman."
"We still don't know the two are related. In fact, a lot of the guys don't think they can possibly have anything to do with each other."
"They're wrong, and we both know it," Brent said.
Massey felt a little chill. Could this guy read minds, as well?
"Look, it's not legal for me to give you names and addresses. You know that."
"We're talking public record," Brent reminded him. "There was a police report, right?"
"Public record and contacting a victim are two different things."
"It would be perfectly legal for you to leave a slip of paper on your desk, and then I could read it," Brent pointed out.
Massey shook his head. "Look, I'm supposed to be helping you out. But you haven't given me anything. Nothing at all."
Blackhawk actually hesitated, dead-black lashes falling over those green eyes that seemed to cut like a laser. "Give me a few hours. I may have something for you."
"What's wrong with now?"
"I just need a little time."
"Blackhawk—"
"Leave that slip of paper on your desk. I swear, I'll have something in a few hours."
Massey shook his head in exasperation.
"You're becoming a bigger pain in the ass than that FBI guy."
"Really?"
"Well, maybe not quite. Hell, now I've got some of his partners in here looking for him. The guy wants to be the Lone Ranger, without even letting Tonto in. Sorry, no offense meant, no ethnic slur intended."
"No offense taken," Brent said.
"At least he thinks the rest of his own office is as inept as we are. Hold on," he muttered.
He dug in his desk, then shoved a file toward Brent.
"I've been playing straight with you, Blackhawk. So help me, you'd better be playing straight with me."
"I'll be back with info. Honest Injun," Brent said wryly.
Nikki realized, as she went to meet the morning cemetery tour, mat she had forgotten to ask Brent about his late-night excursion. She had even forgotten to ask what he was doing that morning.
She was scheduled to work with Julian. She arrived at Madame's first, and as she nursed a café au lait, she wondered how his romance was going, and then began to hope that he would show up. She realized that she was feeling good—better than she had felt in what seemed like forever.
And all because she'd had a good conversation with a ghost.
She had no intention of telling Julian about the previous evening, and she knew now why you rarely heard about people who had conversations with ghosts—they kept quiet because the rest of the world would think they were crazy.
Julian arrived in sunglasses, looking sharp in a polo shirt and chinos. He sat across from her, sipping coffee as if it were a lifesaver.
