Jerking her eyes up, she found him looming over her, his whole manner radiating aggression.

Something unexpected happened to Charlie. Meeting the hard stare of this intimidatingly tall, powerfully built man whom she knew to be a stone-cold killer, she had an instant mental vision of the skinny little towheaded kid whose eyes had looked out at her from the snapshot clipped inside his paper file, which was still locked in the file cabinet in her office at Wallens Ridge. And her heart ached for him.

“You killed your stepfather to protect yourself and your mother. You were a little boy, and he was violently abusive. I’m sure you felt there was nothing else you could do,” she said quietly.

His eyes flickered. “Making excuses for me, Doc?”

She searched his face. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

He made an impatient sound. “I knew the first time I laid eyes on you that you were way too soft-hearted under all that ball-busting, my-way-or-the-highway crap of yours. You want to be careful about being softhearted, Doc. It can get you in bad trouble.”

“So are you going to tell me what happened that night with your stepfather, or not?” she asked.

He countered, “Are you gonna tell me why you’re locked up in here with three damned FBI agents standing guard over you?”

Charlie hesitated. Then she made a decision. After all, there was no real reason not to tell him, and if she revealed something of her past maybe he would open up, too. She found that she was as fascinated as ever by the prospect of understanding what had made him what he was. “Those serial killer attacks that took place fifteen years ago? I survived them. I was the only one who survived, the only eyewitness to what happened. If this is the same perpetrator, I can identify him.”

He went very still. “You saw the killer?”

Charlie nodded.

Garland let out a nearly soundless whistle. “So what the hell are you doing here?”

“I told you. Tony—the FBI—came to get me because they needed my input. They thought I might be able to help them rescue Bayley Evans. And identify the killer.”

“To hell with that. If Tony had the brains of a gerbil, he would have kept you as far away from here as possible. If this is the same guy, and he knows you saw him, and he finds out you’re here, he’s going to be coming after you with everything he’s got.” Charlie’s face must have once again given something away, because Garland’s gaze sharpened. “He knows you’re here, doesn’t he?”

“It was on the news tonight,” she confessed. Remembering the broadcast caused her heart to flutter. Her chest tightened with anxiety. She wet her suddenly dry lips. “Anyway, I’m sure—almost sure—this killer is a copycat.”

Garland swore. “ ‘Almost’ can get you killed. You need to hightail it out of here. Let Tony and his pals find the girl. And the killer. That’s their job.”

She shook her head. “I can’t just leave. That girl—”

“You have to,” he cut in ruthlessly. Clearly forgetting that any kind of physical gesture on his part was a waste of time, he grabbed for her arms and, of course, failed to make contact. “Damn it, Doc—”

An electric tingle accompanied his miss. Charlie involuntarily glanced down at the source. At what she saw, her eyes widened and shot to his face. He was looking down, too—at his hands, to be precise. Or, rather, his hand. His right one was missing to the wrist, which was a little fuzzy around the edges. “Fuck,” he said, staring at the stump.

“Oh, dear.” As soon as she said it, Charlie realized that her response was woefully inadequate. But really, what do you say to something like that?

“Ya think?” Their eyes collided. Then an expression that she could only describe as mild panic crossed his face. “You don’t suppose I’m being sucked into Spookville in pieces, do you? Like, the clothes first, then the hand, then God knows what other body parts, until it’s got all of me?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“Me either, but I’m not taking any chances. That voodoo stuff you promised me? I want you to do it now.”

“What? No. I can’t.”

“What do you mean, ‘No, I can’t’? You gave me your word. I’m holding you to it.”

“I gave you my word I’d try.”

“So try already.”

“I’ve never even attempted to keep a ghost earthbound. I’m not sure I know anything that will work.”

“You knew enough ju-ju to get me sucked away.”

“Getting rid of ghosts I can do. The other is problematic.” Charlie shot him an exasperated look. “Anyway, did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want you attached to me for the next however long?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not real wild about the idea of being stuck with you, either, but when I consider the alternative, you win. By a landslide.” He was staring at his truncated wrist in fascination tinged with horror. “You’ve got to help me out here, Doc. Please.”

The please did it. He was right: she was way too softhearted. The last thing she wanted was to have Garland attached to her for any length of time—but then, that probably wasn’t going to happen: no matter what she did, the universe had its own laws and Garland had his own fate. She would try, because she had promised, although she felt the chance she would succeed was small. But because she would have to deal with him until nature took its course, she would seize the opportunity to lay down a few ground rules for him to follow until he went away.

She told him, “For as long as you’re around you have to help when I need you.”

He met her gaze. “Just so we’re clear, I ain’t talking to any more dead kids.”

Charlie discovered that there was a lot of pleasure involved in so clearly having the upper hand. “You want me to help you? Then you talk to any spirit I need you to talk to. And you keep your mouth shut when I’m trying to have a conversation with people, keep your nose out of my business, and in general stay out of my way.”

The merest suggestion of humor glimmered in his eyes. “No more trying to help you with the boyfriend, huh?”

That earned him a glower. “You’re blowing it here, just so you’re aware.”

“I was kidding.”

“Well, I’m serious. Any opinions you might have about anybody I might be …” she hesitated “… with, you keep to yourself.”

“Fine.”

“And the rest of it.”

He didn’t look happy. But then, he didn’t have much choice. “Agreed.”

Having just had an idea of what she could do to at least temporarily keep any more of him from crossing over, if that was indeed what was happening, Charlie turned and headed toward the bedroom.

“Where are you going?”

“Wait right there,” she flung over her shoulder. Somewhat to her surprise, he did.

When she came back, she was carrying the small canister of sea salt that was part of her Miracle-Go kit. Garland was sitting on the couch gripping his right wrist: his hand was back, Charlie saw at a glance. So were his clothes. She felt a rush of relief.

“I’ve got no idea what just happened here.” Garland looked up to see her eyes on him. He let go of his wrist, flexed his fingers. “But I’m sure as hell glad it did.”

Charlie didn’t say, Me too. No point in letting him think that it made a difference to her one way or another.

“They just came back? You didn’t do anything?” She took the lid off the canister.

“Not a thing. What’s that?” He quit wiggling his fingers to watch as she began to sprinkle the sea salt in a thin line around the perimeter of the room. Its purpose was to create a barrier that a spirit could not cross. Charlie had first meant to use it to barricade herself in the bedroom so she could snatch a few hours of much-needed sleep without worrying that Garland might come in. Then it had occurred to her: if she could ward him out of the bedroom, she could probably use the same technique to ward him into the living room. If he couldn’t pass through the barrier she put down, he wouldn’t be going anywhere—not into the room where she lay sleeping, and not back to Spookville. It was the psychic equivalent of locking him in a jail cell.