Buried Secrets
Authors: Evelyn Vaughn
This wasn't happening again, she told herself, looking to see how badly Zack had been hit. Head wound. Oh, God. Blood was fingering down across his unshaved cheek.
One moment, Jo had been doing a perfectly fine job at taking cover, watching for a chance at opportunity fire. The next moment, Zack had wedged himself between her and danger.
Had she asked him to? Had she
wanted
him to? This was the exact
opposite
of what she wanted from him!
“No!” Every man she ever wanted, ever kissed, was
not
going to end up dead from protecting her, damn it.
Dear Reader,
This month we have something really special on tap for you.
The Cinderella Mission
, by Catherine Mann, is the first of three FAMILY SECRETS titles, all of them prequels to our upcoming anthology
Broken Silence
and then a twelve book stand-alone FAMILY SECRETS continuity. These books are cutting edge, combining dark doings, mysterious experiments and overwhelming passion into a mix you won't be able to resist. Next month, the story continues with Linda Castillo's
The Phoenix Encounter.
Of course, this being Intimate Moments, the excitement doesn't stop there. Award winner Justine Davis offers up another of her REDSTONE, INCORPORATED tales,
One of These Nights
. A scientist who's as handsome as he is brilliant finds himself glad to welcome his sexy bodyguardâand looking forward to exploring just what her job description means.
Wilder Days
(leading to wilder nights?) is the newest from reader favorite Linda Winstead Jones. It will have you turning the pages so fast, you'll lose track of time. Ingrid Weaver begins a new military miniseries, EAGLE SQUADRON, with
Eye of the Beholder.
There will be at least two follow-ups, so keep
your
eyes open so you don't miss them. Evelyn Vaughn, whose miniseries THE CIRCLE was a standout in our former Shadows line, makes her Intimate Moments debut with
Buried Secrets,
a paranormal tale that's as passionate as it is spooky. And Aussie writer Melissa James is back with
Who Do You Trust?
This is a deeply emotional “friends become lovers” reunion romance, one that will captivate you from start to finish.
Enjoy! And come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romance aroundâright here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
EVELYN VAUGHN
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Buried Secrets
#1205
Silhouette Shadows
*
Waiting for the Wolf Man
#8
*
Burning Times
#39
*
Beneath the Surface
#55
*
Forest of the Night
#66
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believes in many magicks, particularly the magic of storytelling. She has written fiction since she could print words, first publishing a ghost story in a newspaper contest at the age of twelve. Since then, along with four Silhouette Shadows novels (recently republished as Dreamscapes), she has written four historical romances and a handful of fantasy short stories, some under the name Yvonne Jocks. She loves movies and videos, and is an unapologetic TV addict, still trying to figure out both how to time-travel and how to meet up with some of her favorite characters. Even as an English teacher at Tarrant County College SE, in Fort Worth, Texas, Evelyn believes in the magic of stories, movies, books and dreams. Luckily, her imaginary friends and her cats seem to get along.
Evelyn loves to talk about stories and characters, especially her own. Please write her at [email protected] or at P.O. Box 6, Euless, TX, 76039. Or check out her Web site at www.evelynvaughn.homestead.com.
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This time around I owe particular thanks to:
⢠Kelly, for Zack, for sharing the world and for her encouragement.
⢠Lisa, for liking explosives better than diamonds.
⢠Kayli, for Ashley, and for being the flow queen.
⢠Sarah, for good sense, fast eyes and happy faces.
⢠Toni, for Cecil, and for being Cliffy.
⢠Matt, for plotting so well that some of it rubbed off on me.
⢠Deb Stover and Maureen McKade, for friendly professionalismâor professional friendship. Probably both.
⢠And to Leslie Wainger, my editor, and Paige Wheeler, my agent, both of whom had a hand in resurrecting me.
This book is dedicated to the memory of
Kevin Tod Smith,
the best god of war ever,
1963 to 2002. I hope the time was as good for him
as for all the rest of us.
I
f his in-laws hadn't reached the cemetery first, Zack Lorenzo might never have learned the truth. Not about evil. Not about magic. Not about himself.
But when he rounded a corner in the old Santa Teresa Cemetery and saw the cluster of Romanos by his wife's three-day-old grave, he ducked behind an angel statue, shutting his eyes against the close call.
He was a big man, a cop. Until last week, he'd thought he could face anything. But he couldn't face this, or them.
He'd made it through the viewing, the rosary and the finality of the funeral in pure shock. His beautiful Gabriellaâ¦
dead?
They'd had their problems, yeah, but what couple didn't? They would've worked them out, same as his parents, her parents, their neighbors and grandparents always had, right?
Now it was too late. Done. God didn't grant do-overs.
They'd argued that night about her weird new ideas. He'd taken a double shift, to stay away from her. And nowâ¦
Zack couldn't face her parents yet. Sooner or later someone would ask why he hadn't protected his precious wife, and he wouldn't have jack to tell them. He didn't know, himself.
“Best leave the family to their grief, eh?” asked an accented voice, and Zack opened his eyes to see who else was avoiding the Romanos. The scrawny young man had two-toned hair and carried a backpack with the logo of a local college. “Pardon my intrusion. Are you here to seeâ¦somebody?”
Zack hadn't brought flowers. In his pocket he had a blue beanbag bunny that had once been Gabriella's favorite; he'd won it for her on a date. She stopped carrying it everywhere sometime during their first year of marriage, he guessed, but he'd thought maybe wherever she was, she might want itâ¦.
To distract himself from the idea of putting a stupid toy bunny on his wife's new grave, Zack challenged, “Are
you?
”
“Oh no, I'm doing schoolwork, actually. This cemetery's my semester project. Did you know, Santa Teresa has served the Little Italy area of Chicago since⦔
Zack let his grief mute the kid's ramble. How was it people still attended college, took vacations, planned futures when his young wife was dead? Dead because he hadn't loved her better.
The studentâBritish, Zack guessedâblathered on about tombstone rubbings and epitaphs and how different cultures ensured peaceful rests for their loved ones. Egypt's mummies. Mexico's Day of the Dead. Burial versus cremation. Then he said, “Like that new one over there, where that poor family is.”
That new one?
“What about it?” Zack challenged, dangerous.
“That grave, Gabriella⦔ The student drew some battered note cards from his pocket. “Gabriella Francesca Bianca Lorenzo, buried just last Saturday. Isn't it interesting, how people can take comfort in burying an empty casket?”
For a long moment, Zack could only stare, strangely dizzyâlike part of him knew something the rest hadn't figured out yet. The wind off Lake Michigan shook the trees and made a Mylar balloon on a nearby grave bob and struggle at its tether. Finally, he went with the obvious. “Her casket's not empty.”
“Oh, I think it may be. My equipment⦔ But the young man's face paled with comprehension. “Ah. You knew her. My apologies for intrudâ”
Too easily, Zack had the student face-first against the Gallo
mausoleum, skinny arms behind his back. Now he just had to decide how bad to hurt the little ghoul.
“Who are you?”
“My apologies.” Marble muffled the kid's voice. “Cecil Taylor. How do you do? I'm studying Urban Archeology, andâ”
“What the hell are you doing, desecrating holy ground?”
“Pardon?”
Even with his face smooshed, Taylor sounded insulted. “I've desecrated nothingâif anybody respects the dead, it is I! Now if you would be so good as toâ”
“You said
equipment.
”
“Ah. Yes. That.” Taylor remained surprisingly composed. “I apologize. I was taking readings on a different grave, you seeâUgo Casale, 1914â1978. I used nothing invasiveâa metal detector and a, well, a portable sonar of sorts. It's rather like a fish-finder. I did not even stand on the grave. But as I turned away, I noticed readings from Ms. Lorenzo'sâ¦plotâ¦which indicated the absence of a corpse, so I made note of it. That's all.”
“Well you're wrong.” Belatedly, Zack released his hold on the guy's skinny arms. “And don't call my wife
Ms.
anything. Gabriella wasn't one of those feminist types.”
She hadn't even worked outside the home. Until a few months ago, she hadn't even had friends who weren't his friends, too. That's how things worked in their neighborhood. Then she'd up and decided to attend community college. She'd begun to explore New Age crap that had made Zack's Nona mutter under her breath.
He felt guilty for still hating those things even though she was dead.
“I am sorry for your loss,” said Taylor gently, as if Zack hadn't just made a love connection between the student and marble. “And for intruding. But if you are indeed her husband, you should know that the casket buried in that plot is very likely empty.”
Like hell it was!
Or was it?
Once the Romanos left, Zack made the Englishman use his equipment to show him those so-called readings, both on Gabriella's grave and othersâ¦and he half wished he hadn't. It con
vinced him enough to risk the wrath of his friends and family by having Gabriella officially exhumed. Her father protestedâbut Zack was her husband. In this, at least, he had final say.
Nobody would stand with him for that except his elderly grandmother, the priest and Cecil Taylor, the latter as if seeing some unplanned duty to its proper conclusion. Zack set his jaw as the casket was opened, half afraid, half hopefulâfor what, he still wasn't sure. Maybe just to see her one more time.
But somehow he'd failed her again. Even before Nona began muttering under her breath, either prayers or incantations, Zack knew that much.
The silk-lined casket was empty.
And when they reburied it, all it held was the last of Zack Lorenzo's peace of mindâand a blue beanbag bunny.
