Hosts to Ghosts Box Set

by Lynne Connolly

  “But of course.” The woman moved closer and Karey smelled something expensive, probably exclusive. Spicy and sweet at the same time, a perfume designed to drive men mad, she imagined. And on her, it probably would. “I only ask to work as your assistant.” She looked around the spacious hall. “This is a large house. It would be good to have two, hein? I am not without experience in investigating. This is why Dr. Arcenaux felt he could recommend me to you.”

  “Where have you come from?”

  She smiled. “I have come all the way from Paris to ask this favor of you. There is nowhere else that has such strong emanations than this house. I have read of it, and I wished very much to come here and help with the research.”

  Was this the woman Jordan had left her for? The thought came unwillingly, but once it crept into her mind, it took residence there. Karey swallowed back her longing to scratch the other woman’s eyes out. After all, Jordan meant nothing to her these days, didn’t he? “Why should I employ you?”

  “I am not asking for a salary, merely an opportunity to work on this fascinating case.”

  It was foolish to be jealous of this woman just because of her appearance and some vague sense of uneasiness. Karey’s sharp brain analyzed the situation. Here was someone offering to help her. Only yesterday she’d wondered if she hadn’t taken on too much. She drew back, withdrew into herself and forced her professional side to take control. “Do you have you any credentials?”

  “Yes. I’m a student at the Sorbonne, but for my doctoral thesis I’m studying the effect of a haunting on the inhabitants. For the thesis it doesn’t matter if the haunting is real or not, just that people believe it exists, but my own interest goes further than that. I wish to understand more about the paranormal. It has always been my primary interest, but my university will not accept it as a subject for a doctoral thesis.”

  Despite her misgiving, Karey’s concern eased. Jordan had always been a mixture of the practical and the mystical and if this was his woman, where was he? “The practical French nature, eh?”

  The girl smiled back. “Of course.” She gave a radiant smile. “My name is Didiane Merchand.” She held out her hand. “I am familiar with your work at Hosts to Ghosts and I’m a great admirer. It would be a great honor to work with you, if you allow it.”

  Karey was immune to flattery, but Didiane’s appeared to be sincere, and that made it harder to resist. “I need to see some references.”

  “I have them.”

  Gentle persuasion slipped into Karey’s mind. She had no reason to doubt this woman, did she? Why should she assume this was the woman who had taken Jordan away, just because she was beautiful? And she could certainly do with some help. She gave in to the arguments, seeing no reason to doubt them. “I can sign you up as a temporary employee of Hosts to Ghosts , and pay you a salary. It won’t be much.”

  Didiane shrugged Chanel-clad shoulders. Karey had seen the label peeking coyly from the side of her coat. “I am not looking for money. I have enough to manage.”

  Karey wondered just how much money it took to be so careless of amassing more. The persuasion grew stronger. “Very well. Dependent on your references, I could use the help.”

  A small movement at the corner of her vision alerted Karey to the fact that they weren’t alone. Turning, she saw the immaculate figure of Bernard Foret, in one of his tailored business suits, crisp white shirt and sober tie, regarding Didiane with a proprietorial air, almost as though he knew her already. Not a hair out of place and looking more like the proprietor of Belle Sauvage than Auguste Duplessis, who was as likely to appear in Levis as he was in Armani.

  Bernard came forward, glancing quizzically at Karey who introduced the visitor. “This is Didiane Merchand. She’s come to help me with the investigation.” She wondered how much Bernard had heard, standing there so quietly until she noticed him. “She’s from the Sorbonne in Paris.”

  “Ah.” Bernard’s face lightened. “I love Paris. What good American doesn’t?”

  They laughed, and what stiffness existed splintered with the laughter. Climbing the stairs, carrying the one of Didiane’s three matching Vuitton cases, Karey wondered why she’d had reservations. The woman was a godsend.

  And it would be good to have someone to talk to. Matters were becoming too intense with Bernard. The last thing Karey wanted was to ricochet from one man to the next, as though she had no identity of her own. No man would own her again, for a long while. If ever. After Jordan, Karey doubted she could ever give her trust to another person. Now she regarded everyone with suspicion; Bernard, who had been so warmly welcoming, even Auguste, who had asked her here partly to give her a rest from New York and memories of Jordan. Even though he was Jordan’s cousin, not hers, they had struck an instant friendship when they met at her wedding.

  Her wedding. Everything came back to Jordan. She wished she’d never met him.

  Almost.

  Chapter Three

  Didiane proved a useful assistant. Her credentials checked out when Karey verified them on the internet, and Didiane certainly knew how to handle the delicate equipment, helping Karey with the long, mostly tedious viewing and listening the following day. They found nothing on any of the cameras, no disturbance that could be definitely explained as paranormal on the tapes, no disturbance in the fine chalk she had sprinkled the night before in the places where people had reported seeing the ghosts. And when she extended her senses, Karey felt nothing. It was all very dispiriting.

  They had one more place to explore; the old cemetery near the bayou. On file, Karey had some reports of sightings of Thomas and Susannah Sharman in the deserted piece of wild land there, so the next day Karey set out to explore, a backpack slung across one shoulder. To her surprise, Didiane joined her.

  “I thought you planned to sleep in?”

  Didiane smiled and fell into stride next to Karey. “Jet lag. I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to get up. Nothing happened last night, but I can feel something. There is something in that house, something powerful. Perhaps something dangerous.” The soft ‘g’ in the last word, and Didiane’s lilting accent made her almost seductive.

  If she was into girls, Karey would have fallen all over her by now. Didiane’s jeans fit her like a second skin, lovingly outlining her pert ass, and her long sleeved t-shirt delineated a pair of firm breasts held by the lightest of seamless bras. Karey became aware of a shadow in her mind, a lustful inclination that surprised her. She loved women, she enjoyed their company, perhaps more than she did the average man, but her one attempt at sharing a lustful bed with one had ended in laughter and a reluctant admittance that it wasn’t for her.

  In fact, Karey had little time for sex, of any description. Life was far too interesting to waste it in bed. Only Jordan had briefly broken through, giving her some short moments of unforgettable passion that she was doing her best to forget.

  Shadows fell across them as they reached the trees at the edge of the cemetery. The account of the sighting here was brief and factual. Still, the change from fall sunlight to dank shadow made Karey shiver. It took her a moment to adjust her eyesight to the new, dimmer light, but Didiane moved without hesitation, walking ahead to the rusty iron gate which predictably squeaked on its hinges when she opened it. Didiane looked around when Karey drew her gun out of her backpack and clicked off the safety. “Alligators,” she explained. “The bayou is just beyond the cemetery.”

  Didiane nodded and smiled. “You are very wise to be prepared.” She didn’t seem concerned, but moved between the grey stones as if she belonged there. A strange thought. Didiane was probably younger than Karey, and yet she seemed totally at home here, occasionally stopping to glance at a stone, not stumbling once on the uneven ground.

  “Here he is.” Didiane paused in front of a large grey stone, and read aloud; “Thomas Sharman, master of Scarlet Oak, died in 1862, survived by none.”

  Her voice dropped into the damp, cold air like stones into a pond, deadened by the heavy gree
nery around them. “Is Susannah there?”

  Didiane looked around. “Yes, here she is. She shouldn’t be here surely. She was a suicide.”

  “It’s a private cemetery. They can have who they want here. I don’t suppose Camille is here?”

  “Camille?” Didiane glanced over her shoulder at Karey, her straight blonde hair moving sensuously against her cheeks.

  “She was a slave, and Thomas’s lover. The one who was the rightful owner of the Blue Star, the necklace Thomas stole after he murdered her.”

  A breeze stirred the leaves above them, but the air drifted into stillness. Didiane smiled. It turned wicked and seductive. Karey moved closer, forgetting everything but that smile. It drew her closely until nothing else mattered. “Ah. The stone. Do you know what became of it?”

  “No.” Karey moved closer, a dreamlike quality invading her mind. “Thomas took it from Camille and gave it to Susannah. She killed her children, and then herself, or so the story goes. No one knows what she did with the stone. I think it’s long gone.”

  Karey had reached Didiane’s side. Didiane reached over and curled her arm around Karey’s waist to draw her closer. “Do you think we could find it?” Her breath fell sweet on Karey’s skin, and Karey felt herself entering Didiane’s domain. Didiane moved closer, pressing a soft kiss to Karey’s cheek

  A male voice cut across the dank clearing. “Leave her alone, Didiane. Let her go!”

  Didiane responded sharply without turning around. “I’ll do as I please, Jordan. This woman is mine, if I wish it.”

  Karey had to put a lot of effort into moving her head, but she managed it. It couldn’t be true.

  Long, lean, dressed all in black with a black leather belt covered in silver studs, Jordan Arcenaux, or his demon doppelganger stood in a shaft of sunlight. His hair, wavy and thick, was cut short, his stance was carelessly athletic. Six foot four of delicious male that Karey had prayed never to see again.

  His warning voice sounded dead in the thickly humid air. “I fucking said release her.”

  * * * * *

  Didiane moved away, and just for a moment Karey felt bereft, as though someone had snatched something precious away. The illusion melted, replaced by dread.

  She felt sick to her stomach. If Jordan had stayed away, she could have handled everything, let the memory fade, but here, in front of her, the instant physical need they had for each other struck her like a knife to the gut, twisting the agony she woke up with every day and only disposed of by strength will.

  She stared at Jordan without speaking. Didiane strolled nonchalantly over the rough ground to the gate and twined herself around him, like a Bond girl around her secret agent, but never took her attention from Karey.

  With the two of them staring at her Karey felt distinctly uncomfortable. Jordan took no notice of Didiane. “Did she hurt you?” He pushed his sunglasses up on his head, and she saw his eyes, intent and steely. As sexy as ever. She tore her gaze away.

  “No, of course not.” Shaking off the strong feeling of dread, Karey walked forward, smiling sweetly. “So kind of you to drop in, Jordan. There’s no need for you to worry, I’m doing fine on my own. You can take your little playmate and go back to Paris.” Now there was no doubt that Didiane belonged to Jordan. This was indeed the woman Jordan had left her for.

  Didiane. French, beautiful, and clever. Karey swore she would burn the fucking letter when she got back to her room. Now she saw him in the flesh, she knew she never wanted to see him again, knew he was out of her life for good, despite the way he always made her feel. Because she found, to her dismay, that she still wanted him. The brief taste she’d had of Jordan Arcenaux wasn’t enough. It might never be enough. But fuck if she’d give him the gratification of letting him know.

  Furious with her body for betraying her with its desire, angrier with Jordan and Didiane, she went forward. She’d been so stupid trusting both of them that she could spit. She walked steadily, careful not to stumble over the rough grass tussocks. Unfortunately, she had to move close to the pair to get through the gate, but there was no helping that. Careful not to touch him, she eased past, not deigning to look in Didiane’s direction.

  Didiane laughed, a soft snicker of derision. “We could always share him, Karey. That could be interesting.”

  “I don’t share my men. But I’ve done with him, so you’re welcome to him.” Holding her head high, she set off back to the house.

  “You heard her, Didiane. Let’s go home to Paris.”

  Jordan’s low voiced comment cut through her like a knife, cruel in its lack of desire to hurt her. She read anything in Jordan, but he’d always been very good at shielding himself, not spreading his emotion about like many of the people she encountered. He was almost as good as Karey, but not quite. She felt his strong sadness, his regret, and wondered if he was projecting the emotion. It was quite possible, and it would be a way of getting through to her. Or it would have been before she’d realized what a fool Didiane had made of her.

  “You can go if you wish, darling. I intend to stay. There are malevolent spirits here, and you know how much I enjoy playing with them.” Didiane sounded as though she didn’t care in the least. Karey meant what she said to Didiane. She never shared.

  They followed behind her. Wisely, Jordan didn’t try to catch her, although she didn’t walk particularly quickly. Karey would have done her best to hit him in that case. She couldn’t bear it, seeing him like this, with the woman he obviously preferred to her.

  Not that she could blame him, she acknowledged ruefully. Their marriage hadn’t exactly become a bed fest. They had been too busy with a key investigation to spend much time there, and in any case, Karey had never worked out what all the fuss was about. Or so she told herself, but she was dismayed to discover that Jordan still held his own magic for her. He still made her melt inside, like a schoolgirl with her first crush. It infuriated her.

  Bernard was waiting when they got back, standing outside the small office by the front desk. The expression of concern in his eyes warmed her. Here was someone who didn’t turn her heart upside down, someone she could actually talk to without imagining him naked. The thought forced a remembrance of the sight of Jordan’s naked body. She’d only seen it a couple of times but she’d burned it on to her retinas for all time. She would never see it again for real.

  Bernard gave her a friendly smile. “Trouble?”

  “My ex—or rather, soon-to-be ex-husband has arrived, looking for his girlfriend.”

  “The beauteous Didiane?” His lip turned up in a sneer.

  “You think she’s beautiful?”

  He shrugged. “She certainly believes so. I prefer someone with more personality.” His warm gaze told her he meant it as a compliment.

  She smiled, feeling the tension ease from her face. Bernard was so much easier than Jordan. “Thank you.”

  A shadow fell across the hall as Jordan and Didiane arrived, darkening the sunlight streaming in through the open door. Jordan pushed his sunglasses up, ruffling his new expensive haircut. “I’ll take her away.”

  “No you won’t. I want that stone.” Didiane sounded icy.

  Bernard’s head snapped up, and his gaze immediately went to Didiane. They stared at each other silently for a few seconds. Then Bernard spoke in a cold voice Karey had never heard before. “What stone?”

  “The Blue Star. It is no secret. I intend to find it.”

  “Why?”

  Didiane smiled sinuously. “I like pretty things.”

  Jordan spoke. “It’s not yours, Didiane. You have no right to it.”

  “No, but you do.” Didiane’s blue stare fixed Jordan, and she moved to twine her arm around his. “You have as much right as Auguste Duplessis to that necklace. In any case, if the jewel turns up, I am prepared to bid for it on the open market.”

  “You think we’d sell it on the open market?” Jordan’s voice sounded harsh in the late afternoon quiet, broken only by the sounds of hammering
and the occasional shout from the workers in the East Wing. “It’s more likely we’d offer it around the family first.”

  “Then you must buy it for me. Everything is for sale.” She paused. “At the right price.”

  Jordan turned away, forcing Didiane to release him. “Not this stone.”

  “Then I’ll just have to find it and persuade someone, won’t I?” She turned to Karey. “Karey will help me find it, won’t you, Karey? You have a gift for discovering the hidden. I can tell.” Karey felt an insinuating, gentle presence in her mind, curling around her senses, turning her thoughts. Why shouldn’t she help Didiane? She had nothing to gain by hiding this, and in return Didiane could help her with the ghosts. It began to sound reasonable until something like a furious whirlwind surged through her, sweeping her clean.

  “Karey will help you find it if she truly wishes to.” Jordan’s voice was tinged with emotion, something she hadn’t heard before. An edge of pain colored his tones, as though something had hurt him. As if he heard her unwilling sympathy, he turned his attention to her. “I’ll remove my presence, and Didiane’s. We won’t trouble you again.”

  Karey found her voice. “We should talk, Jordan.” The name was hard for her to articulate, but she managed it without a waver. “We have some matters to discuss.”

  “Such as?”

  “Hosts to Ghosts, for one.”

  He lifted his hand in a dismissive gesture. “It’s yours. I can’t manage it any more. I don’t want it.”

  Shock arced through Karey. Hosts to Ghosts had meant everything to Jordan, his life, his raison d’etre. Had Didiane succeeded where she had failed in enticing him away from the thing that meant most to him? His last words to her before he’d left for Paris had been, “When I get back, we’ll take that honeymoon. I promise, Karey, we’ll have time for us.” It never happened. Instead, that letter arrived, the one she promised herself she wouldn’t read again but found herself opening every night. “We’re still married, Jordan.”

  “What?” He turned back from the open door. “Not divorced?”