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Authors: Heather Graham

BOOK: The Seance
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She hoped she'd broken it.

But he was strong, and he knew how to use his weight to control her, all the while working to get his fingers around her neck. She desperately searched the mattress and as much of the floor as she could reach, seeking the garden shears she'd used to free Angie.

She found them at last, curled her fingers around them and lifted them to strike.

But he sensed her intention. He let go of her neck and grabbed for her hand, trying to wrest the shears from her. In a moment he had them, and he raised them over his head…

She screamed, shrinking as far back against the mattress as she could.

But he didn't strike.

She saw something…someone…move in the shadows behind him.

Beau Kidd was behind him.

Before Tony had a chance to strike, Beau wrested the shears away. Tony let out a disbelieving roar of rage as they seemed to fly away from him on their own. If he had any sanity left, it wasn't apparent as he snarled like an enraged cougar and attacked her again, fingers stretched and grasping, intent on her throat.

This time he was stopped by a very real and visible force.

Jed had arrived.

His face looked like thunder, and he hefted Tony off her as if Tony weighed no more than a two-week-old kitten, then slammed him against the brick wall of the basement.

With Tony out of commission, Jed dropped to her side, smoothing back her hair, looking at her anxiously. She smiled, unable to speak, and he stood, reaching for her hands, ready to help her to her feet.

There was thunder on the stairs as a trio of cops came down, two uniforms and, behind them, Jerry Dwyer.

“Where the hell is Lowell?” Jerry demanded.

“There,” Jed said, indicating the fallen man with a nod of his head.

“Bastard,” Jerry breathed. “He'd damn sure better not get off on some technicality.”

Later, Christina was unable to remember exactly what happened next, certainly no more accurately than anyone else.

Tony Lowell started to laugh and staggered to his feet.

No one else moved, no one drew a weapon, but the garden shears just picked themselves up and flew right across the basement, embedding themselves in Tony Lowell's chest.

With a look of absolute shock, he fell back against the bricks, a massive bloodstain spreading across his chest.

19

C
hristina opened her eyes.

Everything was as it should be.

The small porcelain clock—Gran's favorite, brought over from Ireland—sat on the mantel, the seconds ticking away softly.

It was dark. True dark. She'd actually forgotten to turn on the night-light before going to bed. Of course, she'd been just a bit involved when day gave way to night, and she hadn't thought about a light. Quite frankly, she hadn't thought about anything at all, other than the fact that she was alive, and not just alive, but alive and in the arms of the man she'd adored all her life, who seemed to feel the same way about her.

She frowned slightly when she realized she was alone in the bed. Where had he gone?

She sat up and saw that morning was coming. Already the darkness was growing diffuse, so she hugged her knees and watched the day arrive. And as the light filtered in, she saw the man she loved at last.

He was seated in the overstuffed chair, bare-chested but wearing jeans, and he was just watching her.

“Hey,” she said in greeting.

“Hey yourself.”

“Are you…all right?” she asked.

He nodded. “I…went out for a bit.”

“Oh?”

He rose and walked over to the bed. “I was at the cemetery.”

“Oh?” she said again.

“I went to make my peace with Beau Kidd,” he told her.

It had been a week since the events next door had nearly cost her her life. It had been a mind-numbing experience for her, and she left it to better-trained minds than her own to make sense of everything that had happened. They'd already pieced together some of the story.

Tony had started killing young, apparently luring his victims by pretending that he was hurt and needed help. They'd discovered that he had done a lot of traveling after Beau Kidd had been killed for his crimes. The time he had spent in various places coincided with a number of unsolved murders with similar signatures.

Then he had found Ilona. Someone, according to Angie, who was sicker and even more excited by cruelty than he was himself. Ilona—who at times seemed entirely rational and at others as insane as any Jill the Ripper—had filled in some of the pieces they were missing. Tony had never been a cop or a criminologist. He'd learned to wear gloves and how to hide his tracks because he'd watched television.

He'd looked like a normal guy, not a monster, Christina thought.

The guy next door.

Ilona had tried claiming to be battered, terrified, suffering from every syndrome out there, but Angie had quickly put the lie to that angle.

Mike had commented to Christina a few days after the horrors had come to an end, when they'd all gathered at O'Reilly's, that he had seen his ex-wife, and she'd been like a different person, grateful to be alive and certain that only Christina had saved her.

Dan, who had refused to stay in the hospital more than a night, had actually blushed when he'd explained to her why neither he nor Ana had opened the door. “We were…well, you know,” he said, gulping his Guinness.

“I don't know,” she said, puzzled.

“Oh, good God, are you all blind?” Ana exclaimed. “We were doing it, okay? We've had a thing for each other for years, and…”

She trailed off, and everyone stared at her for a long moment, then burst into laughter.

But that wasn't the only surprise that night. Apparently emboldened by Dan and Ana's confession, Mike spoke up and said, “I suppose that I ought to confess I have a date scheduled with a certain redhead,” he told them.

“Who?” Dan demanded.

“Me,” Katherine Kidd announced softly.

That led to more staring and more laughter, not to mention a lot of teasing, interrupted only by the arrival of their food.

Genevieve, Thor and Adam had left the next day. Christina had been sorry to see her friends go, but she was comforted by the knowledge that they'd made a date to go diving together the weekend after Halloween.

She doubted, however, that she would ever see Adam Harrison again, and she told him she was sorry about that when she slipped into his room to help him pack.

“You never know, Christina. You never know. Perhaps one day I'll call on you to help someone else.”

“Gladly,” she said as he smiled, and folded his last shirt. “At least your time here wasn't wasted. I really did have a ghost.”

“You've always had ghosts around you, Christie. You see them when you need to, and they find their way to you when they need you.”

“But I haven't seen Beau since…”

“Since you were in Tony's basement.”

“Right.”

“Did you see the papers, though? He was vindicated. That was what he needed. I don't think he'll be back.”

“Do you think that Katherine saw him, that she was able to say goodbye?”

“I do,” he assured her.

After that she and Jed had been alone in the big old house, and now there he was, standing beside her bed, watching her.

“You went to Beau Kidd's grave?” she asked.

He smiled and sat down next to her. “I think he kept you alive until I got there, and I had to thank him.”

She smiled and touched his face. “Did you see him?” she asked.

“I prayed for him,” he said, and she didn't push it.

“Coffee's on,” he told her, apparently eager to move away from a topic he still had trouble with.

“Thanks.”

He left the room, and she showered, dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen, where she poured herself some coffee.

Suddenly she knew he was there, and she turned around. He was in his full dress uniform, looking very handsome. He felt so real when he took her into his arms, and so did the gentle kiss he planted on her forehead.

“Thank you,” he told her.

“Thank you. You saved my life.”

“You're welcome. But now it's time for you and Jed to make your own lives.”

“I know. Does he?”

“I'm willing to bet he does. You should go to him now.”

“I won't see you again, will I?”

“I don't think so. I think it's time for me to rest in peace, as they say.”

She nodded and felt tears sting her eyes at the last touch of his hand. She fought them back and headed out to the porch, where she found Jed, his bare chest gleaming as he typed on his laptop beneath the rising sun. A large package lay on a glass-topped wrought-iron table next to him.

Definitely not an engagement ring, she thought, and smiled, arching her eyebrows in curiosity.

“It's for you,” he said. “Open it.”

She did, discovering a blue checkered dress and something furry. “What…?”

He shrugged awkwardly. “Okay, I copped out on the lion, I admit, but Dan said he'd do it. You have to be Dorothy, though, because the only way Killer will stay in his basket is if you're the one carrying it.”

“What?”

“We need to get together with friends, have fun…do normal things. Really live our lives. I thought we could start with Halloween.”

“Oh,” she breathed.

“How am I doing?” he asked her.

“Magnificently,” she told him.

“Good. Then there's one more thing.”

He pulled a small box out of his pocket.

Opened it.

Held it out to her.

It was a diamond ring. Beautiful. Marquis cut, in an antique setting.

She stared at him, unable to speak.

“May I?” he asked, his tone husky, a little unsure.

She nodded, offering him her left hand.

“I wish you'd say something,” he murmured, dark eyes meeting hers.

She smiled, pushed the computer aside and sat on his lap, then found his lips.

At last, she broke away, breathless. “How am I doing?” she asked.

“Magnificently,” he told her.

ISBN: 978-1-4268-0637-7

THE SÉANCE

Copyright © 2007 by Heather Graham Pozzessere.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

MIRA and the Star Colophon are trademarks used under license and registered in Australia, New Zealand, Philippines, United States Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.

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