Before they’d left the Denver suburbs behind, Enzo had dissipated into nothingness. She was sad to see the dog go but dreaded discussions with the Other.

Talk with Zach was infrequent and casual. She sensed that he’d dropped into that long-distance driver’s concentration that didn’t allow for much of anything else, and she knew if she opened her mouth she might simply babble her fears for the entire trip. So she stiffened her spine and kept him stocked on drink and food.

They paused only once at a rest stop to stretch. Since the stop was relatively close to Torrington and Cold Springs, she did stretch and limber up, anticipating the hike off the road to the area of the defunct station.

Just south of Torrington a grayish oblong patch coalesced out of the darkness, slowly becoming defined as the ghost who’d haunted her since she’d returned to Denver.

He floated several yards ahead of the car. Clare tensed.

“Jack Slade?” Zach asked.

“Yes.”

He picked up her hand and put it on his thigh. “Better if I can see him through you.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, spreading her fingers, feeling the taut denim over muscle. She wouldn’t push Zach on whatever psychic powers he might have. From the conversation she remembered between him and Mrs. Flinton, the older lady, so much more experienced than Clare, believed that Zach had some sort of gift.

They continued driving, following the specter, and then it zoomed away, and back.

We’re close! the ghost said, hovering in front of the truck in a manner that made Clare’s stomach lurch.

“Can you hear me, Jack?” Zach asked.

The phantom’s face solidified more, and Clare swallowed. Tell the driver I can hear him.

“Yes, he can hear you,” she relayed. Her nerves began to twang in anticipation of what she’d have to do.

“Stick to the roads,” Zach said. From the sound of it, he spoke between clenched teeth. “And don’t make us go through any damned barbed wire.”

The ghost frowned, appearing more raggedy: no feet, his legs ending in filmy white streamers. Clare sensed that he had a pinpoint focus: to get through this night, one way or another. She gulped.

I will lead you to the best place, he finally said in her mind. I will trace the modern roads. He vanished.

Clare’s doom came closer.

THIRTY-SEVEN

THEY WOUND THROUGH the narrow streets of a shabby trailer park. Now and again off to the left or right were short gravel drives that went nowhere, where there’d once been access to fields that now only showed thrusting grass in faint dirt ruts.

Zach cursed mildly but continually as he wove through the lanes that were more country than town.

There is a sharp turn, here, follow me! Jack Slade said, indicating the bend, then flickering out. Due to his excitement or some other paranormal phenomenon that she didn’t know about?

“I saw him,” Zach said, and Clare realized she’d left her fingers on his leg, but they’d traveled up more toward the crease in his thigh. He didn’t seem to mind, though she was sure he noticed. A trickle of easy contentment mixed with the excitement churning through her blood. She was so, so lucky to have him with her.

No matter what happened in her life, she needed to remember and cherish this moment. No matter what happened with her and Zach . . . and she hoped they were only on the beginning of their journey together . . . she had to remember what he was doing for her tonight. Not leaving her alone to face her first major ghost laying . . . transitioning . . . passing on into the light . . . heading through the door to the next world or whatever came after death. She’d had little religion or personal spiritual philosophy but figured she’d be developing one soon. Her mouth twisted; she’d have to, it would be a necessity, wouldn’t it?

A bump jolted her from the thoughts she’d wrapped around her like an insulating blanket.

“Damn washboard road.”

They proceeded slowly, but it wasn’t more than five minutes before the ghost appeared again.

“There! There he is, and more distinct than I’ve ever seen him!” Clare said.

“Yeah, yeah. I see him pretty damn good, too.” A slight pause. “Well, crap.”

“What?”

“Look ahead and a little up.”

She sucked in a breath. “A ridge. Full of houses. Some of them with porch lights on.”

“Damn it! All of the huge state of Wyoming with farms and ranches of thousands of acres and the damn site is near a damn suburb of Torrington.”

“The trailer park isn’t that far behind us, either,” Clare said.

“I know it.” Zach turned into dirt ruts that his headlights illuminated. They also caught the shine of white letters on a sign: POSTED. NO TRESPASSING. KEEP OUT.

“Well, darn,” Clare said. She was breathing fast. “At least there’s a draw . . . a tangle of bushes and cottonwoods, and it looks like we’ll be below another ridge, maybe hidden a little?” She kept her voice quiet but couldn’t stop the anxious rise in tone.

“Not good enough,” Zach said grimly, killing the lights. He jutted his chin. “Did you see the irrigated field? I betcha anything the damn station will be in the middle of that wheat.”

“Oh, dear.”

He opened the door and she did the same and hopped out, landing on dry grass that crackled under her feet. A mass of crickets went quiet.

“Let’s head on along the bottom of the ridge,” Zach murmured. He rubbed the back of his neck. “At least there’s no moon. It’s a new moon tonight. And let’s do this fast. Ted’s around. I just feel it.”

Clare smiled at him and his heart squeezed. He’d do a lot for that smile. “I know I can trust you.”

She will not be aware of the normal world, Enzo said in a fussy tone.

All Zach’s muscles tensed; he had to pry his teeth open to say, “What?”

Patting him on the arm, Clare turned on a small flashlight she must have pulled from her pocket. She outlined the continuing dirt rut between the ridge and the wheat field, heading toward a glowing blur a couple of yards away. The thing winked out when she raised her hand from his arm. “I trust you.” She stopped a moment, her face pale but her big eyes wide. “Time to confab with the notorious Jack Slade and send him to his . . . on.”

“To his just reward?” Zach asked dryly.

Clare shivered a little and he wondered if she felt the cold of ghosts. Zach himself felt warm, though the sky began to rapidly cloud over, blocking even the starlight on this night of the dark of the moon.

“I hope there is a great deal of mercy,” Clare murmured.

Zach would second that. “I’ll follow close.” He clicked on his Maglite.

She nodded, said nothing about him being crippled, as usual. She trusted him as backup and he trusted her. She’d do her job to the very best of her ability. And she’d be a good partner, take charge of the situation and spare him what she could.

Some partner he was. He should have asked one of the special forces guys to help them . . . help Clare. He wanted her safe, and he couldn’t protect her the way he could have a few months ago.

The going was rough. He had to watch every step, and each step hurt. He should’ve gotten a goddamned brace. Clare was at least three yards ahead of him.

“Hey, Jack,” she said softly.

From one step to the next, as if she crossed some invisible boundary, the night sliced in two. Instead of the subtle tones of night, the blasting uber-rich color of a hot August day hit her eyes. Instead of fragrant scents of grass and crops and land drifting to her nostrils, horrible odors assaulted her nose—horse poop, blood, and death.