Living with the Dead

He should have brought backup. Under any other circumstances, he would have, but here he'd figured he already had it in Judd Archer. He didn't know the guy, but he'd heard his story – ex-cop turned celebrity bodyguard. Not true. Archer had never left the force. He was undercover, trying to break into an organized crime ring through their purported relationship with some glitterati types. If things went bad in there, Archer would be Fi

Fi

Fi

He gave the doorknob a tentative turn. It opened. When Peltier woke Archer, relocking had probably been the last thing on his mind.

Fi

The lights were on in the front hall and what looked like the kitchen beyond. Fi

Fi

"Shit," Fi

Gun poised, Fi

Fi

"I know you can see me," Archer said, stepping in front. "You looked right at me in the kitchen. You can hear me, too, or you wouldn't have paused when I spoke."

Fi

So Fi

They'd finished searching the spare room when Archer, heading out the door, went to pull it farther open for Fi

"Ah, shit." Archer's shoulders slumped.

"I'm sorry," Fi

Archer nodded. He kept staring at his hand, and Fi

"So what happens now?" Archer said. "Am I stuck here? A ghost?"

"You'll be taken to the afterlife." Fi

"I guess this is how you solve all those cases, huh?" Archer managed a small smile. "Insider information?"

"It helps. Can you tell -?"

He stopped, remembering Archer's body lying on the kitchen floor. The longer he waited to call in the death of an officer, the more fast talking he'd have to do to explain the delay… and fast talking really wasn't his thing.

While he called for assistance, he asked Archer to explain what happened. Unfortunately, this was one of those times when having access to the most important witness wasn't going to help. Archer hadn't seen who'd killed him. He'd been making coffee and, the next thing he knew, he was standing over his body.

"Did you hear anything?" Fi

"Nah. I was grinding beans." He gestured to a small appliance on the counter. "Yes, I grind my own. I had a girlfriend who got me hooked. Anyway, those things make a helluva racket." He paused. "I may have heard the shot, but it was too late."

"Where do you keep your gun?"

Archer told him, and Fi

"Guess I left the front door open, huh?" Archer said. "That must be how the guy got in."

"If the killer wasn't already in."

"Huh? Wait, you mean Robyn? No way."

"You didn't see who killed you."

Archer seemed to consider lying, saying he'd caught enough of a glimpse to know it wasn't her. But the cop in him won out and he said only, "Rob had nothing to do with this, unless it was indirectly. If Portia's killer thought Rob was a witness, he or she could have followed her here. But my money says it's unrelated. Someone made me as a cop, decided to take me out."

Fi

"Was Portia Kane co

"Nah. She was just an easy client to cement my rep with, you know? She got me access to the people and places I needed."

"And Robyn Peltier?"

"Her PR rep. Not a drug supplier. Not a con artist. Not a mobster's girl. If you knew Rob, you'd laugh at the thought. She's a complete straight arrow. She doesn't smoke, doesn't drink – which is why those few glasses of champagne screwed up her judgment tonight. She treated Portia more like a little sister than a client. Tried to keep her straight, and was always there when she needed someone."

"I spoke to an actor who was clubbing with them tonight," Fi

Archer snorted. "Trust me, Rob was the one on pity-duty. Portia wasn't a bad kid, but she was needy, and what she needed most was a friend. She clung to Rob like she'd found her new best buddy."

"Did Peltier resent that?"

"If she did, she could have walked away. She had no ties to L.A. All her family is in Philly. She didn't need this job. She didn't kill Portia and she didn't kill me. My money's on – "

Archer vanished.

Perfect.

Fi

HOPE

Hope awoke and rolled into the middle of the hotel bed. Karl's spot was empty. No surprise there. It didn't seem to matter how late they got to bed – or how long it took them to get down to sleeping after they got there – Karl was always up first. Even when he slept, it was never soundly. On his own since fifteen, he'd spent too much of his life on guard against other werewolves looking for an easy notch in their belt.

Last year, when he'd encouraged Hope to get back into rowing, he'd joked that he'd get up for her dawn practices… in time to meet her for breakfast after. But if he was in town, whether they were at his condo in Philly or hers in nearby Gideon, he always drove her. He'd drop her off, saying he'd grab a coffee and paper and wait, but when she was out on the water, she'd see him, apart from the huddle of sleepy partners and spouses, tucked into some dark corner, sipping his coffee and watching.

A guy doesn't stand in the cold November drizzle at 6 a.m. to support his girlfriend if he's not committed to the relationship. But after a life without family, friends, lovers, what was she to him? The begi

Hope told herself to enjoy it while it lasted. Nothing came with guarantees. But the more she saw Robyn spiral downhill, the more she worried about herself.

When her powers first started kicking in, bringing visions of death and destruction, she'd spent years struggling for sanity. Even after she'd learned she was a half-demon, it didn't solve the problem – it just gave it a name. She'd wobbled back onto her feet, but it was Karl who helped her stand firmly. Without him, would she be like Robyn, her world thrown off its axis again?