A Reason to Believe
By Diana Copland
Detective Matthew Bennett doesn’t believe in ghosts. So when the spirit of a murdered child leads him to her body, he’s shaken to the core—and taken off the case. Unable to explain his vision, or to let go of the investigation, Matthew turns to renowned medium Kiernan Fitzpatrick. Though he has doubts about Kiernan’s claims to communicate with the dead, Matt is nevertheless drawn to the handsome psychic, who awakens feelings he thought were long-buried.
Haunted by the lingering spirit of the little girl, Kiernan is compelled to aid in the search for her killer. The chance to get closer to the enigmatic Matt is an unexpected bonus. Although Kiernan’s been betrayed by people who turned out to be more interested in his fame than in himself, with Matt he’s willing to risk his heart. As the two men grow closer, Kiernan helps Matt rediscover that life offers no guarantees—but love offers a reason to believe…
81,000 words
Dear Reader,
I love October because it’s the perfect month for my favorite season: fall. I adore the sights, sounds, smells and feel of the fall season. Pumpkins and straw bales, colorful mums and burning woodsmoke. And the crisp, cool weather that’s perfect for sitting on the porch and reading a book while sipping hot apple cider.
This month, we have an excellent variety of books perfectly suited to this very thing, starting with All He Ever Desired, Shannon Stacey’s latest Kowalski family contemporary romance. As always, Shannon delivers a captivating romance with just the right touch of light humor. Joining her in the contemporary romance category is HelenKay Dimon with Lean on Me, the second book in her trilogy. Make sure to check out her first Carina Press title, It’s Not Christmas Without You, and look for We’ll Be Home for Christmas, coming in December 2012.
If you’re gearing up for Halloween and are in the paranormal mood, check out Regan Summers’s newest novel, Running in the Dark. Debut author Bryn Donovan offers a wonderful paranormal romance in Sole Possession, while Diana Copland’s male/male paranormal romance A Reason to Believe will haunt you long after you’ve read the last page. And joining Diana with a male/male release is L.B. Gregg and her rerelease Men of Smithfield: Seth and David.
Fans of steampunk romance will be thrilled to see new releases from two of our favorite steampunk authors: Cindy Spencer Pape and Jenny Schwartz. Look for Moonlight & Mechanicals and Courting Trouble to release in mid-October. And as an aside, can I tell you how much I love Jenny’s series name of The Bustlepunk Chronicles? It’s a perfect fit for this series about a spunky young woman in steampunk Australia.
I’m thrilled to welcome Val Roberts to Carina Press with her newest science-fiction romance novel, The Valmont Contingency. Val and I worked together in the past and I love her voice! And returning to us with another release in the fantasy romance genre is Karalynn Lee. If you’ve never had the pleasure of immersing yourself in one of Karalynn’s worlds, now’s the time to check out Heart of the Dragon’s Realm.
My team is especially excited about this next book from Julie Rowe. As fans of Downton Abbey, they fell in love with the first book in her new historical romance series set during World War I, Saving the Rifleman.
If you’re wondering where the romantic suspense is, not to worry, Kate Sherwood offers up a spine-tingling suspense, Shadow Valley. And mystery author Janis Patterson returns with her newest novel, Beaded to Death.
To round out the month of October, we have two spicy erotic romances to tempt you. With No Reservations, Lilly Cain kicks off her new erotic series, Bad Girls Know. Last, but definitely not least, the book from Christine d’Abo’s Long Shots series I’ve been waiting for. Mouthwatering sex club owner Josh is finally going to get his own happily ever after and you don’t want to miss the mind-blowing chemistry Christine has written to get him there in Calling the Shots.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
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Dedication
To Kate, who makes every day worth getting out of bed for.
Acknowledgements
With thanks to Saritza Hernandez, agent extraordinaire, whose unwavering friendship and support have been with me since the beginning.
Thanks to Libby Drew, G.B. Lindsey, Wilma, Glenna, Cheryl and all the other lovely insane women who have made my writing life as rich as their friendships have made my personal life.
To Deborah Nemeth, for helping me find my way through an entirely new editing process with humor and patience.
And to Betsy, who is the first to see it and the last to see it, and the one stuck with the spaces.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter One
A plate of Christmas cookies sat on the polished black marble counter. It was a large white platter populated with yellow stars, Christmas trees with M&M’S for ornaments, and snowflakes thick with white frosting and sparkling with sugary glitter. And angels. Little girl angels with widespread wings and pink robes and curling blond ringlets. They looked like cheerful little cherubim, with their pink cheeks and little red smiles.
Matt Bennett supposed Christmas cookies were an appropriate thing to find on a kitchen counter in the hours before dawn on Christmas. During his own childhood, cookies and milk for Santa had played an important role in the Christmas Eve rituals. But the purpose for his presence made those bright-eyed angels seem faintly macabre.
The call had come in at one-fifty, waking him from the first sound sleep he’d had in days. As his captain filled in the details with typical efficiency, Matt’s mood had grown more and more sour. God, he hated cases involving kids. They were the worst. It seemed particularly cruel such a thing should happen on Christmas Eve.
The facts were already in evidence, but it didn’t make the investigation any more palatable. Abigail Marie Reynolds, age six, was missing from her parents’ home. When they’d put her to bed around nine, she’d been fine. Excited for Christmas morning, she’d taken a while to settle but she’d been sleeping peacefully by eleven when her father peeked in on his way to bed. When her mother got up at one and saw her daughter’s door ajar and a light on, she checked the room only to find the pink princess linens and blankets on the floor. The child was nowhere to be found.
Frantic, she woke her husband, and they made an exhaustive search of the house. When it became apparent the little girl was gone, they called the police. At one time, there would have been a twenty-four-hour wait, just to make sure the child hadn’t wandered off on her own. Amber alerts had changed all of that. Detectives now knew the first hours were crucial in the recovery of a missin
g child, and they swung into action immediately. Of course, it didn’t hurt that the father of this particular missing girl was also a high-profile defense attorney. The list of suspects among his clients was no doubt a mile long.
Matt leaned against the counter in the large kitchen as his captain and another officer interviewed the parents. They were seated at a gleaming dining room table, the light from the chandelier above unforgiving. The father looked ragged and shell-shocked, and his wife was tearfully repeating her story, twisting a white handkerchief in her hands. On the sideboard behind them, prominently displayed, were several photographs of an angelic little girl with a full head of curling blond hair and a dimpled smile.
Captain Branson questioned them respectfully, but Matt knew what his captain was thinking. In many missing child cases, the parents were involved somehow and almost always were considered the first suspects, at least until sufficient evidence removed them from suspicion. Matt hated it but had been around long enough to know it was more often than not true. Taking in the father’s slouched posture and the mother’s white-knuckled hands, Matt pitied them. He’d be hard pressed to believe the shattered, frightened people had anything to do with the disappearance of their only child, but he tended to be more compassionate than Branson. Matt admired him as a detective even while not liking him much as a person.
He turned his eyes away from the sobbing woman, feeling uncomfortably as if he was invading her privacy. Instead he was studying the platter of festively decorated cookies when he heard a soft sound. Lifting his head, he looked around, frowning. It came again and he straightened. He didn’t have much experience with children, but he knew a giggle when he heard it. A high-pitched little girl’s giggle.
He took a few steps and looked around the corner toward the service porch, then the other way, into the long hallway leading to the front entry and the curving staircase. Seeing nothing, he moved in that direction.
“No, silly.”
He went still, startled, quickly looking both ways. The voice sounded like it was right in the room with him. Bright, full of amusement, and yet he saw nothing.
“Not out there. Down here!”
He blinked, looking around. Down where?
His eyes shifted toward the door leading to the basement. The investigating team had been down there, all of them, not an hour before. What the hell…?
“Are you coming, or not?”
Matt strode forward decisively and pulled open the door. At the bottom of the narrow staircase descending into the darkened basement, he caught a glimpse of something white just before it disappeared to the right. Starting down, he pulled his flashlight off his belt. Again, childish giggles floated to him, now coming from the cluttered room at the bottom of the stairs, and he flicked on the beam. It cut through the gloom and lit dancing dust motes and the rough wooden stairs.
“Abby?” he whispered, moving forward cautiously. He didn’t want to frighten her. If the child was playing some sort of elaborate prank, he’d let her parents explain the trouble she’d caused. His heart lifted at the thought of returning their daughter to them none the worse for wear. He moved quickly, eyes scanning the space. “Abby, where are you?”
“Here!” the voice sang. “I’m over here.”
Matt swung his flashlight left and right. The sound seemed to be coming from all around him. He shivered. It was freezing cold in the basement. Outside, the snow was piled up around the foundation in drifts, but he didn’t remember it being this cold when he’d been down here before. He could see his breath, lingering before his face in a misty fog.
“Where are you, honey?” he called. “Your mom and dad are frantic. This isn’t a very nice game.”
“Not a game.”
The voice was right behind him. He jumped and turned.
Standing not five feet from him was the child, her hair mussed, her little feet bare beneath the hem of her Beauty and the Beast nightie. But something wasn’t quite…right. She was so pale her skin looked colorless. And her eyes were almost unnaturally wide. She wasn’t smiling. She was just—staring. Matt’s heart kicked hard against his rib cage, reacting to the unexpectedness of finding her there.
“Abby,” he said with mingled relief and concern. “Everyone has been so worried. Are you okay?”
She shook her head slowly, still staring, still not blinking.
“Are you hurt?” He took a step toward her. She nodded, her expression flat. “Where? I can take you upstairs, and we can have someone fix it, okay?”
Again, she shook her head.
“Yes, it’s okay. No one is going to be mad. They’re just going to be so happy to see you…”
Her stoic expression and her stillness, in such marked contrast to the happy giggle and teasing voice he’d heard, had him completely unnerved. She lifted her arm and pointed.
“The refrigerator?” Matt frowned at the beat-up old appliance. “What about…” He turned back and stiffened, his whole body going cold.
She was gone. Where moments before the child had stood, there was nothing but a dusty floor.
Matt staggered back a step, unwilling to believe what his eyes were telling him. “Abby?” he called, his voice hoarse.
She couldn’t have vanished. That didn’t happen. He was a cop, a highly trained detective. He dealt in what was real. The little girl had been there. Moving quickly, he swung the beam of his flashlight under the stairs, into the dim corners, growing more frantic by the moment. He searched every corner, all the while calling her name. Finally, after looking in every inch of the basement and exhausting every theory about how she might have vanished into thin air, he turned and stared at the refrigerator. Someone had looked in it, hadn’t they?
But he didn’t think they had. There was a pile of boxes in front of the stained doors and he didn’t recall them being disturbed. Moving stiffly, he shoved the pile to one side.
“Please, God,” he muttered, reaching out with a trembling hand, curling it around the cold metal handle. “Please.” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and opened the door.
Moments later, he was forcefully reminded why he no longer prayed. He’d long ago given up believing anyone was listening.
Chapter Two
Matt entered his small house, moving slowly, so tired he could hardly lift his feet. He closed the door on the snowfall that had begun again in earnest, leaning against it for a moment before pulling off his coat. Without bothering to shake the flakes from the shoulders, he dropped it on the floor.
At one time, he wouldn’t have done such a thing. But at one time, there had been someone to fuss at him to hang it up. “You weren’t actually raised in a barn, were you?” The voice seemed to drift through the empty house. Matt scowled.
Resolutely refusing to allow himself to go down that road, he toed off his shoes and emptied his pockets onto the small table against the wall. Badge, ID, wallet and keys all went into a frosted white glass bowl sitting there for that purpose. Another badge was already lying on top of a ratty black wallet in the bowl, and he touched its gleaming surface tenderly before moving away, unbuckling the gun holster crossed over his chest.
Pausing before a painting of a landscape on the wall, he pulled on a corner and it swung open silently on well-oiled hinges. They’d had the safe installed right after they moved in, because both had found gun cabinets too obvious. He worked the combination absently, heard the lock click and pulled the door open. A few practiced movements and the straps were wrapped around the holster holding his service revolver, and he placed it inside. He spared a tired look for the other gun already secreted there before closing the safe.
Had he not been so completely exhausted, he might have been able to muster the energy to be really angry. Not only had he argued with his superior, but he’d spent the past four hours telling the department shrink he didn’t need to ta
ke any time off. Neither of them had listened to him. Not for the first time, he regretted ever telling them the truth. If he’d just kept his mouth shut and never admitted it had been Abigail Marie Reynolds herself who had led him to her body, he wouldn’t have been put through the administrative nightmare.
Grimacing, he stumbled to the overstuffed sofa in the cluttered living room and fell onto it, propping his elbows on his knees and sinking his face into his hands. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should have just said he had gone down to the basement because he’d had a hunch. Then no one would have looked at him with that humiliating mix of disbelief and pity.
“It’s not uncommon,” Dr. Pergola had said, her eyes kind as she studied him from behind her glasses. “When the psyche receives a profound shock, it finds ways to tell you you’re not dealing with the trauma. You didn’t take any time off after Brad…”
“This has nothing to do with Brad,” he said, his teeth clenched. “I saw her. She was there. She pointed at the refrigerator—”
“Do you really expect me to believe the ghost of a six-year-old girl led you to her body?” She angled her head to one side. “Does it sound rational to you?”
As much as he hated to, he had to agree that, even though he’d seen it, it didn’t.
“Take some time off,” Branson had said. “You’ve had a rough time. No one is going to think any less of you.”
“Except you,” Matt mumbled aloud now in the dim room, pressing his fingers against gritty eyes. He’d seen the way his boss looked at him, as though he was weak, compromised. But then, Branson had been looking at him with derision from the moment he’d found out two of his best detectives had hidden the fact they were lovers for three years.
It hadn’t been that they were ashamed of it. He hadn’t been ashamed of Brad. He’d loved him. He’d believed it was something of a miracle when, after being partners for nearly a year, Brad had suddenly grabbed him and kissed him. He’d had feelings for Brad almost from the moment he met him, but he hadn’t imagined they’d been returned. When their off-duty relationship eventually ripened into love, they’d both agreed what they did on their own time was none of the department’s business.
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