The victim of my pathetic but desperate plan stiffened in my arms but didn't shove me away or yell or even try to kiss me back (more's the pity—I've always been a sucker for blue eyes). He did, however, look a bit taken aback at what was surely an expression of utter and complete befuddlement visible on my face.

Mattias loomed up in my view, but he couldn't reach me, blocked as he was by the people between us. "Pia?"

I slunk down a few inches lower, shifting my grip on the man I held so that my fingers clutched soft, curly hair. I threw in a rapturous moan as I kept my lips glued to his cheek, my attention moving him, to Mattias, to the ghost who continued to leer at me.

Mattias peered at us for a moment, then gave a little shake of his head and moved off. At that moment, hands that felt like they were made of steel grabbed my wrists and pushed me backward.

"I appreciate the offer, but I am not interested," the man said, his voice deep and lyrical, with an Italian accent that seemed to skitter over my skin like electricity.

"I am," the ghost said, winking. "You can snog me any day."

"Um," I said, not sure how to respond to a lecherous ghost. "Are you a sailor, by any chance?"

"No," the blue-eyed man said, frowning.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't asking you; I was asking him," I said, nodding toward the ghost.

The man looked behind him, then narrowed his eyes at me. "Are you drunk?"

"Not in the least, although I'm really wishing I was at this point. You don't see him?"

"See who?" he asked.

"The ghost. I think he's a sailor from a ship that went down in 1922."

"The Rebecca," the ghost said, nodding. "Went down in a bank o' fog the likes o' which I'd ne'er seen afore, and hope to ne'er again."

"There is no one there," Blue Eyes said slowly.

"You're bein' the reaper, then?" the sailor asked. He was a short man, somewhat squat, with a face that looked like it had been in more than one bar fight.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not. I just have this," I told the ghost, holding up my wrist to show him the moonstone, which had once again changed into a tiny crescent moon lantern. "But if you go to the café on the square, you'll find a couple of other people who were on the ship, and who are waiting for the person in question."

"What are you talking about?" asked the man.

"Café, you say?" the ghost said, looking hopeful. "Ye be thinkin' they'll have a tot o' rum there?"

"They might. You never know."

"Aye, that ye don't. I'll be on me way, then." He gave me a gap-toothed grin. "Ye might want to be practicin' yer aim while I'm gone. Looks like yer fella doesn't appreciate ye kissin' naught but his cheek."

I said nothing, not wanting the man whom I'd jumped on to think I was any crazier than he already did. Obviously the moonstone/lantern contained some sort of magic that allowed only its bearer to see ghosts.

"I'm so sorry; you must think I'm the worst sort of woman," I told Blue Eyes. "But there was a man chasing me, and I really didn't want him to find me."

He had continued to hold my wrist bearing the moonstone. While it was a lantern, he didn't glance at it, but the second the ghost left, it reverted to the stone, and he clutched my hand even tighter.

To my surprise, rather than release me, he took a few steps into a bluish white pool of light cast by a portable lantern. I gawked when the light revealed him to be one of the two eye-candy twins, the one with short hair. The light hit him only on one side, but the planes of his face were hard and angled, a cleft cutting deep into his chin, his nose narrow, but not straight, as if it had been broken and not set properly. And then there were those lovely eyes, shining from within, beautiful pure teal blue with little spiky black bits that seemed to seep from his pupils. Oh, yes, they were gorgeous eyes… and they were focused on me with a look that had my color rising.

"I know it sounds crazy," I stammered, "but it's true. There really was someone behind you, only you couldn't see him and I could. I think it's because of the moonstone, but that's really neither here nor there. But I've bothered you enough for one night, and clearly you feel the need to go get checked for scabies or something. I mean, I would if some strange guy suddenly swooped down and started kissing me. Not that I have scabies, you understand. I'm perfectly scabies free. In fact, I'm not quite sure what scabies is, although I know if you're not careful you can get it from sexual partners. Oh, lord. I'm babbling. I'm sorry. I do that when I'm nervous, or embarrassed, and wow, am I embarrassed now."

The man stared at me like I had just turned into a tap-dancing llama, complete with top hat and cane.

"Sorry," I said again, making a little gesture of vague apology.

His eyes narrowed as he looked again at my hand.

"I'll just go now," I finished lamely, jerking my hand from his and scurrying away toward the street, my face hot with embarrassment. "What on earth is wrong with you, Pia? You babbled at that poor man, positively babbled like a deranged person. Dear god, I can't take you anywhere, can I?"

A sleek red car purred up to the curb.

"I bet I'm even redder," I muttered to myself as I hurried by the car. "I should just go home. I can't get any lower than thieeeeeeeeee!"

Before I could pass by completely, one of the doors opened and I was shoved from behind. I grabbed at the roof to keep from falling into it, but another shove at my back more or less folded me in half, resulting in me collapsing inside the vehicle.

Chapter 3

"Hey!" I yelled as I was tossed halfway across a leather seat, landing partly on it and partly on the floor. The door slammed behind me, and the car started off. "Hey!" I yelled even louder, clawing myself into an upright position. "What the hell is going on here?"

The other eye-candy guy was driving, his gaze meeting mine in the rearview mirror for a moment before he said something in what sounded like German to the Italian guy. The latter answered with one word. "Zorya."

"Oh, no, not you, too!" I said, goose bumps crawling up my arms and legs. "Look, you've made a big mistake!"

"I thought she was French," the driver said, his voice a pleasant baritone with a slight German hint to it. "She sounds American."

"She is American, and she's not very happy right at this moment, so if you would kindly pull over and let her out, she won't have to either scream, or go stark, staring insane, whichever comes first!" I said loudly, my temper finally frayed beyond repair.

"Kristoff—" the driving guy started to say, his eyes flashing from the road, to the mirror, to his buddy.

I grabbed for the door handle, so angry I was ready to throw myself out of the moving car to escape the two men. Quickly, the driver hit a button that locked all the car doors.

"Damned child locks," I cursed as I tried to pry the lock upward.

"She has the stone," the man identified as Kristoff said, his head jerking back toward me.

"It's not mine!" I yelled, shaking the stone at him. "I told the same thing to those other people, not to mention the ghosts."

"Ghosts?" the driver said, looking more interested than skeptical.

"Yes. People who drowned on a ship, I think. A long time ago, but I'm not whoever they're looking for, too. I've never seen this stone before. I think it came in a book I bought this afternoon, a book that a Frenchwoman was trying to find."

The unnamed man driving slowed down and pulled over in the parking lot of a darkened bank. "What is your name?"

"Pia Thomason. I'm from Seattle, here with a tour group." My cheeks flamed to life again. I didn't think I could stand the contempt that was sure to be in Kristoff's eyes if I mentioned what sort of group it was. "I bought a couple of used books this afternoon, and I think the bookmark must have been hidden in one of them, because I sure as shooting never saw anything like it before." Quickly I recounted the brief meeting with the woman in the square. "The bookmark is probably hers."