Midnight Investigation. Sheryl Lynn

      B UCK SLID behind the wheel and slammed the door. Who did that imperious little twit think she was, anyway? Standing there in that tight red sweater with her boobs half hanging out, acting like he’d committed a crime. Fine, she didn’t believe he saw spirits. Didn’t believe he communicated with them. He jammed a key at the ignition, then twisted and pushed on it for a few seconds before realizing it was the wrong key. He fumbled the right key around on the ring and started the Jeep.

      He glared at the storefront of Hollyhock Antiques and Oddities. The windows were filled with claw-footed furniture, antique dolls and stacks of old china. He couldn’t see inside, but he could picture Desi with her fall of sleek, sable hair and those blue eyes snapping with anger. Her attitude didn’t belong in the field of paranormal research. Skepticism might be healthy, but she carried it to a ridiculous extreme.

      “You’re ridiculous,” he snarled at the storefront. “You’re not that cute, either.”

      He checked the street and backed out of the parking space.

      At least he’d seen no sign of the Dark Presence. Sensed no malevolence surrounding her or lurking in the corners.

      A chuckle rose and anger faded. Desi Hollyhock was damned cute. He shook his head, amused at himself for letting her get his goat. He had the temperament and training to stay coolheaded under any circumstances. He’d be damned if he was going to let some pint-sized girl in a sexy sweater and tight jeans get to him.

      Too bad she was unaware of the friendly spirit he’d glimpsed accompanying her. Guardian spirits, he called them. Such spirits seemed to have unfinished business or they clung to living loved ones who were troubled. Desi Hollyhock didn’t appear troubled. She was just a pill.

      He looked forward to the Rocky Mountain Paranormal Research Team meeting tonight. She might be a tough cookie, but he was tougher.

      If she wore that red sweater, all the better for him.

       Chapter Three

      When Buck entered Rampart headquarters it was as if a magnet drew his eyes to Desi Hollyhock. She was seated at a battered conference table that took up much of the meeting room. She wore the red sweater, and the swell of her soft breasts seemed to glow. Desi glanced up when he walked inside, but immediately returned to her conversation with a tall, brown-haired woman.

      Dallas Stone beckoned Buck. Peeling out of his coat, Buck joined him in the kitchen. Dallas shook Buck’s hand then indicated a man.

      “Alec Viho, Buck Walker.”

      They shook hands. As soon as Buck made contact he felt a shock of recognition. Alec looked to be in his mid-thirties with long, black hair tied back in a ponytail. His face was dark, hard-planed, with a jutting nose, prominent cheekbones and a sharply outlined jaw. Buck knew they hadn’t met, but something about Alec struck a chord.

      Maybe it was the aura.

      Buck had seen glimmers of color surrounding people before. It hadn’t happened often and he’d never figured out why only some people had them. Alec’s aura was green and soothing.

      “Glad to you meet you,” Alec said. “Dallas says good things.”

      “Grab a drink,” Dallas said. “I’m going to see if I can wrangle that herd of cats into a meeting.”

      Buck pulled a soda from the fridge. He felt Alec studying him.

      “So you have a direct line to the dead,” Alec said. He spoke with the same casualness as if he’d said, “So I see you drive a Jeep.”

      Maybe it was the aura, or maybe the man’s utter calm, but Buck felt a sense of relief. “I guess,” Buck said.

      “You’re untrained.” Alec nodded. “That’s okay. Never too late to learn.”

      “Do you see ghosts?”

      “Not so much.”

      Buck’s head reeled. He’d never met anyone so accepting. Alec stared out the glass sliding door. Though it was only six o’clock, the backyard was dead dark. Buck could just make out the bulky shape of a gas barbecue grill and a basketball hoop mounted on a tall pole. Buck asked, “Why do you believe me?”

      “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

      Feminine laughter caused both men to turn their heads. The female members of the team had gathered at the far end of the conference table. Buck caught Desi’s eyes. She gave him an icy look before turning back to her friends.

      Alec chuckled, low and charged with amusement. “Don’t take it personal, Buck. She doesn’t like me, either.”

      Buck stiffened, wondering if his feelings were that transparent or if Alec was extremely intuitive. He hoped it was the latter. “She’s a piece of work.”

      “She has a good heart. A warrior’s heart. But she shoulders the problems of others instead of looking at her own.” Alec smiled. “She throws boulders on her own life path.”

       Interesting man, Buck thought. “Did you get to the Moore house today?”

      Alec nodded. “It was quiet when we left. All are where they belong now.”

      Buck hoped the little boy had joined his loved ones on the Other Side. He really hoped the Dark Presence had gone straight to hell.

      “Everybody’s here,” Dallas said. “Let’s get the show on the road.”

      Buck took a chair near the head of the table and Alec sat beside him. Fifteen people crowded around the conference table. Dallas pointed to Tara Chase, Rampart’s researcher and historian.

      Tara opened a folder. “I found more info about the Moore house. You’ve all seen the transcript of the question-and-answer session with Desi, Buck and the K2 meter, right? If you didn’t get the e-mail, let me know and I’ll resend it.” She glanced at her notes. “After the original owner died, his younger brother inherited the house. He had six children. Three boys and three girls. The youngest, a little boy named Jonathon, was the only child of the husband’s third wife. He died of influenza in 1919. He was nine years old.”

      “Wow,” John Ringo said. “That fits exactly with what Buck and Desi picked up in the K2 session. Good job, Tara.”

      She closed the folder. “I should be able to post all the material I found out about the house this week. Even without ghosts it’s a fascinating place.”

      Dallas nodded. “We did a blessing at the Moores today. It went well. The Moores aren’t leaving, but they did move their bedroom downstairs to a room where nothing is torn up. They say they feel better since the investigation, and they haven’t been seeing or hearing things. I think Mr. Moore was more shaken up by the EVP than Mrs. Moore was, but he seems cool with it now. Especially since his wife isn’t waking up screaming anymore. They invited us to come back when the renovations are finished to see if we can catch anything else. Chalk one up to the good guys.”

      Heads bobbed and murmurs rippled through the room. Buck caught Desi’s sideways glance. She slid her attention away as if she hadn’t been looking at him at all.

      “Well, folks,” Pippin O’Malley said. The pretty redhead with big green eyes and a smattering of freckles tapped the scarred tabletop with her knuckles. “I have a case our resident psychic might be able to help with.”

      All eyes turned