And she was unsurprised.

A dog appeared near his face, his tongue coming out in a swiping lick that only brought cool air.

Puzzle pieces . . . like the puzzle box . . . clicked in Zach’s mind. He kept his eyes on the ghost and his arms around Clare. “You’ve seen him before.”

“Yes,” Clare said. She sat up, moving off his body to the edge of the couch . . . aware of his injury, then, making sure she didn’t hurt him. A big rush of feeling settled near his heart. Yeah, good call in not heading out.

When she’d changed position, the dog and man had blinked out of Zach’s vision. Since he wasn’t in contact with her.

He should let this be. But he felt good. And this was about Clare and not him, and she was an interesting woman, and it was Jack Slade of all people—ghosts—and a puzzle, and he liked puzzles . . . So he sat up, his muscles protesting a little at sleeping on the couch with a weight on him, but more because he’d taken out three bad guys in a short, brutal, very strategic fight. Zach stretched, set his arm around Clare’s waist.

The dog, Enzo, sat an inch from his feet, eyes big and dark. The man hovered at the threshold of a tiny hallway that went to the bathroom, Clare’s bedroom, and a little home office. Zach stared at the famous man, five feet, six inches, maybe. Zach wasn’t used to taking into account floating inches off the floor. Thin, maybe a hundred and thirty. The ghost’s light-and-shadow expression wasn’t good enough for Zach to read.

“Jack Slade,” Zach murmured.

Clare watched him from the corner of her eyes, as if she were waiting for him to get up and leave.

Zach faced the famous gunman. “So, did you kill Beni?”

Brows down, a flash of light in the dark eyes. No. My men did, and got the lesser reward for doing so. He turned back to Clare, giving Zach the cold shoulder, literally; Zach felt a chill wave from the guy, even as Zach’s insides felt a little icing from within. He thought he could hear the gunfighter’s words in his head. Eerie, bordering on scary.

He waited, breath hitching, for what the phantom would say next.

Clare wet her lips; Zach’s attention went straight to her mouth and sex, and his dick twitched. The best reason for staying with her as far as he was concerned. “That’s why you’ve been studying him,” he said. “He’s been haunting you.”

“Oh, yes.”

I regret my intrusion, the ghost Slade said in a snide tone that made the courtesy a lie. He even gave them a sarcastic half bow. But I insist that we deal with my business now that you have accepted your ability, ghost seer, ghost layer. We do have a time limit.

“A time limit for what?” Zach asked. Wariness began to replace fascination.

The ghost’s jaw flexed as if he had real muscles.

I must return to the place where I did my darkest deed and redress it.

“Returning to the scene of the crime. Which crime was this?” Zach ladened his tone with distaste.

More flashing, real flashing, from the specter’s eyes. His spine straightened. Though he was a small man—maybe medium-sized for his era, Zach didn’t know—the stagecoach chief certainly had presence. Most likely in life, too. The details of the man’s life were hazy in Zach’s mind.

“Cutting off Jules Beni’s ears,” Clare said crisply.

Of course Clare would know all the details, have them on the tip of her tongue. She, too, had straightened ramrod stiff in the circle of Zach’s arm.

Now Jack Slade appeared sad. He nodded, fingered his watch fob—where he’d kept one of those ears? Zach’s belly squeezed at the thought.

The anniversary of the date comes soon, the ghost said, his face twisting into something Zach wasn’t sure he wanted to see, maybe even thinning to a shredded-flesh-over-skull deal.

“How soon?” Zach demanded.

September first.

“That’s only six days from now!” Clare sounded appalled.

Zach got the feeling she was one of those people who had a schedule and paced herself to it, moving faster when necessary, but liking the steadiness of the everyday. He could help her overcome that.

Jack Slade’s face set, no flashing eyes this time, more like hollowness. If I am to move on. I must return the ears to the place where I cut the ears off. He moved his shoulders as if under a huge weight. That event still resonates in that place. It will continue to do so until I make amends and return the ears.

Not quite easy for Zach to wrap his mind around that sentence and whatever crappy woo-woo rules the damned spirit had to live under, but he felt tension run through Clare’s body.

“Return the ears?” Clare’s voice rose to a high squeak.

Zach glanced to where he’d put the puzzle box on the coffee table just last night. Yep, still in the exact same place.

The ghost drifted more purposely toward them. His face fleshed out a little, turned into a pleading expression, he held out a hand. Please. Please help me leave this horror of a half life.

Clare began to tremble. Zach could almost hear the fight between reality and this weirdness in her mind.

Breathe! The dog hopped around as if it were a small terrier. And that word sounded in Zach’s mind. Oh, yeah, mindspeak continued to be strange, and maybe scary if Zach gave in to that sort of thing. Zach pulled Clare closer. Her skin felt cool to the touch. He reached to where an afghan lay crumpled on the floor, picked it up, and wrapped it around her. For himself, he’d begun to sweat, and the ceiling fan swept it away. The night must still be in the seventies because there was no relief coming from the open front door.

Think! Work the case. An unusual case, but still a damn problem. He gestured widely to attract the phantom’s attention and pointed to the puzzle box with the ear. “That’s one of the ears, right?” The whole auction thing made sense now.

Yesss, the ghost hissed.

“Where’s the other?” Zach asked.

Somewhere near Virginia Dale, Jack Slade said. Meant nothing to Zach. But Clare nodded.

“You gave tips to Clare about the ear in the box, right?” Zach asked. “You should be able to find that other ear.”

The shadow man grinned, appearing almost real and like someone Zach might actually be interested in having as an . . . acquaintance.

Yes! His gaze latched on to Clare again. Now that there is a conduit to help me leave, I can sense the other ear!

“Great,” Clare said grudgingly.

I will go now. Thank you! He nodded gratitude and flickered out.

Breath whooshed from Clare. She leaned on Zach. “Thank you for being here.” Facing him fully, she narrowed her eyes as she examined him.

“An interesting puzzle. I’m in.” He kept it light, stood and drew her up; his foot dropped and he flopped it around and discreetly leaned against the arm of the couch.

Yay! the dog said in his mind, and probably in Clare’s, again jumping around, rubbing himself like a cool breeze on Zach’s legs. When Enzo did that to Clare, she flinched, pulled the afghan around her, and stepped closer to Zach, her breasts just slightly away from his chest and her stomach close to his renewed erection.

“What’s Virginia Dale? A what or a who?” he asked, frowning because he thought he’d heard and now had forgotten.

“Ah,” Clare said. “Jack Slade’s headquarters he built when the Overland Stage line moved south because of Indian attacks.”

Nope, Zach hadn’t known any of that, but he knew Slade had lived in Colorado and Wyoming before ending up in Montana. “The trail moved south. What state are we talking about? Where’s Virginia Dale?”

“Here in Colorado. Northern Colorado about forty minutes northwest of Fort Collins. And Virginia Dale, Colorado, is not to be confused with Virginia City, Montana, where Jack died.”

Zach nodded. “Easily within driving distance.” He gestured to the puzzle box with the ear inside that rested on the coffee table. “Sounds like he expects you to return the ears to where he cut them off.”