“I’ve never had a man so curious about my underwear.”

  “I’m sure you have, he just wasn’t asking out loud.”

  I turned back out onto Sherman Street and headed for the hotel, passing him a quick frown. “Doc, I don’t want you to do this.”

  I wasn’t dressed to catch him if he keeled over onto me again. Although, the boots were an improvement over my mule sandals.

  “You said you wanted my help.”

  “I do.” But I didn’t want him to suffer psychologically because of me. “I just want you to teach me a little about how to channel. I mean, should I just pretend to talk to some ghost, or should I scrawl out freaky words, like that woman in The Changeling?”

  When I glanced over at him, he was staring out the front window. “How much do you want this sale?”

  “Enough to pretend I can talk to dead people.”

  “Before I can help you, I need to find out what’s in that hotel.”

  “Does that mean you think Cornelius is legit?”

  “No, although that is a possibility.”

  “Then why do you have to find out about any ghosts?”

  “Because I think you might be legit.”

  I scoffed in good humor. “Legitimately insane, sure.”

  “Violet, do you know what you are?”

  Was he serious? “A single mother who has a hankering for peanut butter fudge ice cream, John Wayne movies, and …” you, “soft couches.”

  He didn’t smile back. “That’s you on the outside, but what about who you really are and what you’re doing here?”

  “I think I’m going to need some tequila in me to continue with this conversation.”

  “Fine.” Pointing at the hotel looming in front of us, he said, “But for now, we need to know what we’re dealing with in there.”

  “Can’t we just make something up? I’m great at playing charades.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not risking you running into Wolfgang again.”

  “You mean Kyrkozz.”

  “Especially Kyrkozz.” He sounded serious, which made my upper lip sweat.

  I swung into the parking lot and shut down the Picklemobile. The backfire scared off a bunch of crows hanging out on the hotel’s roof. Good—the scene was creepy enough this afternoon with the storm clouds that now darkened Deadwood’s doorstep. The black birds acting as the hosts for the haunted hotel were overkill.

  Doc reached for the door handle. I caught his arm before he shoved open the door.

  “Doc.”

  He looked at me, waiting.

  “Why don’t we just go to the library and look up some dead people?”

  Creases formed at the corners of his eyes. “As much fun as that sounds, I’d rather just run into them here.”

  I still held his arm, not wanting to let go just yet. “But what if there is more than one?”

  “You say that as if you believe in ghosts now.” One dark eyebrow lifted. “Do you?”

  I sputtered and stuttered, which pretty much summed up my answer.

  “Well,” he said, grinning, “it appears that I’m making progress on that front.”

  “I don’t know what to believe when it comes to you.”

  “Are we talking only about ghosts here?”

  No. “Mostly.”

  He took my hand and laced his fingers through mine. “Here’s how this is going to go. We’ll head inside, take the stairs up to the third floor, and see if whatever I noticed the other day is still hanging around. If not, we’ll drive over to the library and figure out how you can convince Cornelius the place is worth more money without turning you into a morally corrupt sideshow freak.”

  It sounded like a solid game plan, but I did have the hair for the freak job, if needed. One question bobbed to the surface. “And if something is on that third floor?”

  “Then the channeling performance you put on tonight will be based on truth, and the only thing at risk will be your reputation.”

  “And my job.”

  “Right. That, too.” He winked at me, a smile curling the corners of his mouth. “I could start paying you for sex.”

  “Wow. So romantic. Be still my beating heart.”

  He laughed and kissed the back of my hand. “I’d quote a sonnet, but after last night, I fear I’d fall short of your wonderful Shakespearean monologue.”

  “Oh, God, don’t remind me.” Every time I tried to play Don Juan-ita, I ended up chasing windmills like Don Quixote. “That reminds me, I need to reimburse you for that window.”

  “No you don’t.” He let go of my hand, which stuck to his a little. He sniffed his palm. “Violet, why do you have pine sap on your hand?”

  Because of Rex ‘the bastard’ Conner, but now was not the time to talk about him—if ever. “I don’t know. I must have picked it up somewhere this morning.”

  Without further ado, I exited stage left. Or was that stage right?

  Anyway, Doc met me at the tailgate. We crossed the lot to the hotel’s double glass doors. He pulled open one of them for me to lead the way, but before I could, Tiffany came striding out.

  I stumbled backwards into Doc, shocked to see his ex-girlfriend up-close and personal all of a sudden. He caught me, and I righted myself before Tiffany could sniff out anything funny going on between us. This close to the sale, with Ray playing his games, I needed her on my side, not pissed because I was frequenting Doc’s bed.

  If Tiffany was surprised to see us, she hid it like a pro behind her starlet sunglasses and red lipstick.

  “Doc!” She nudged me aside to plaster herself against him in what some might call a hug. To me it looked more like she was trying to become another layer of skin.

  Then the bitch kissed him on the cheek.

  Then I tackled her and cut off all of her long, stupid red hair with a pair of blunt kindergartner scissors … .

  In reality, I just clasped my hands together and looked up Main Street with a big, undoubtedly ridiculous-looking smile tacked onto my mouth.

  “What are you doing here?” I heard her ask him, her voice all smoky sexy. I wondered what she’d sound like trying to talk around my socks.

  “Violet is showing me the hotel.”

  I looked around then, fake smile still stuck in place. “Hello, Tiffany.”

  Tiffany assessed me from head to toe, her gaze lingering on my hair. “Violet, yes, there you are. It’s always nice to see you.”

  She could at least try to mean it. And here I thought we’d bonded the last time we’d talked and would be swapping cookie recipes by Halloween.

  She leaned in closer to me and whispered loud enough for Doc to hear, “The hair looks good, but you could stand a little shorter dress for this client. Doc is a leg man.”

  My eyes jolted to his, an image of Tiffany’s bare legs wrapped around him burning into my brain. Fury combined with humiliation, lighting me up like a Molotov cocktail, the flames singeing my neck and cheeks.

  “Oh, really?”

  Doc shook his head. His lips looked like they were struggling to hold down a smile.

  The bastard seemed to actually be enjoying this public display of torture.

  Tiffany stepped back from me, her gaze fawning on Doc again. “She’s showing you the hotel, huh? You’re not actually thinking of buying it, are you?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  Her laughter tinkled, like a dog pissing on my leg. “Not much of a possibility, anymore, right, Violet?”

  “He knows about my other client,” I told her.

  “So does Ray.” Her lipstick-outlined smile lost some of its luster. “He’s sure sunk his teeth into this one. I haven’t seen him so motivated to make a sale in years.”

  “I bet.”

  “He even offered to take me to dinner at The Wild Pasque if I’d move the deadline on your window to make a second offer to twenty-four hours instead of forty-eight.”

  “He’s pretty excited.” The rat bastard!

  The Wild Pasque was Deadwood’s fanciest joint. The cloth napkins alone probably cost more than any of the dresses I had in my closet to wear there. Ray wasn’t screwing around, anymore. He wanted me gone, gone, gone, and then some.

  “How does that work in your office?” Tiffany asked. “If Ray gets the sale, what do you get?”

  Fired. “The opportunity to sell something else to my client.”

  “Right, Mr. Curion. That man is such an interesting character.” She shook her head, her expression amused as if she were enjoying a private joke. “You should be able to find something else suitable, I’d think. I have several listings in Sturgis and Spearfish if this falls through.”

  “Thank you.” I think I meant that, too.

  Thunder boomed loud enough that I felt it in my chest.

  “Well, I should get going before we get drenched,” she said and patted me on the arm like I’d already lost the game. Then she moved toward Doc, but before she could clutch him in her arms again, he sidestepped and reached for the door.

  “See you later, Tiffany,” he said and motioned for me to step inside. “After you, Violet.”

  Feeling slightly battered after that encounter, I avoided looking at Doc when I strode through the open door. I didn’t stop and wait for him, just aimed for the elevator and took swings at my inner doubt demons along the way.

  I pushed the button for the elevator, but Doc grabbed me by the elbow and led me along beside him to the stairwell door.

  Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten how the game plan went for a moment thanks to Tiffany’s interruption.

  Doc closed the door behind us and sniffed.

  “You pick up anything?” I asked.

  “Just a hint. Let’s go.”

  I looked up the narrow stairwell—three flights straight up with landings offering resting spots. The wooden-step stairway must run along the side of the building. But why did they have to paint the walls baby-blue? And by the smell in the corridor, they’d done it recently, too. It must have been in preparation for selling.

  The weak light from sconces at each floor did little more than deepen the shadows. I started up the stairwell, glancing back at Doc. “Why not take the elevator this time?”

  “It’s not as scenic.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I don’t want to take a chance on being trapped in there with a ghost.”

  Pausing on the second floor landing, I waited for him to join me. “That’s happened to you before?”

  “Twice, but not here. Yet.”

  Nodding, I frowned up at him. “Why does Tiffany think you’re a leg man?”

  He eyed the next flight of stairs. “Do you really want to go there right now?”

  “No.” I climbed a few steps and stopped, turning around. “Yes, I do.”

  He still stood on the landing, sniffing. “I don’t have a thing for legs.”

  “Then why did she—”

  “Tiffany is insecure.”

  “What? No way.”

  “Trust me. She makes up for it by being aggressive and competitive.”

  “Competitive? You mean besides her job?”

  “I mean physically.”

  “She could be a model.”

  “That’s definitely one way she competes.”

  “What’s the other?”

  He hesitated, sweat glistening on his upper lip.

  “Let me guess, during sex.”

  He nodded just once. “Can we go up now?”

  “Okay.” Two steps later, I stopped again. He was coming up on my tail.

  “So, was she all athletic, doing backbends and splits like the U.S. Women’s Gymnastics team?”

  His lips twitched. “No. I mean she competed constantly—without stopping.”

  “You mean when it came to how long—”

  “Yes!” He cut me off. Were his cheeks a little pale or was that just the weird lighting in here?

  “Is her competitiveness why you stopped seeing her?”

  “It was one reason.”

  “Was there another?”

  “Yeah.” When I refused to budge, he continued, “She wanted to get married.”

  “Oh.” That made me take a step up in surprise. “Okay then.” I’d have to remember to never say the M word to Doc. It would probably be best not even to think of that word in the same train of thought as him. “I’ll just … uh … keep going up.” I practically ran up the rest of the steps to the third floor landing.

  When Doc caught up to me, he was breathing hard. Sweat trickled down from his temple.

  It wasn’t that hot and stuffy in here, and Doc was in much better shape than me. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” He leaned against the wall, resting the back of his head on it. “But I need to tell you something,” he said in between breaths, “about Tiffany.”

  As much as I didn’t want to hear any more about Jessica Rabbit, I kept my mouth closed. My gut churned as I waited to hear what he had to say.

  He sniffed a couple of times and squinted at me in the crappy lighting. “You look different.”

  He didn’t say it as if different meant good. “Of course I look different. She and I are about as different as women get.” And if he asked me to dye my hair red, I would string him up by his testicles.

  “No, I mean you look different right now.” He reached toward my face. “As if your face is—”

  His hand jerked back all of the sudden, his eyes widening. “It’s here,” he whispered.

  “You mean a ghost?” I looked behind me, circling like a dog chasing its tail. “Where?”

  He flattened himself against the wall, his face pallid. The moon had more color to it. “Right here.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. “Like right behind me?”

  He shook his head. “I mean inside of you.”

  “You think I’m possessed?” Funny, I always thought I’d notice if something else was controlling the mother ship.

  “No, I don’t mean it’s possessing you. It’s just hiding behind your face, wearing you like it would a mask.”

  Whether or not I believed in ghosts, that freaked me out. I stumbled back across the landing, swiping at my cheeks and hair as if ghosts were made of cobwebs.

  “Oh, shit.” Doc’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His face tightened, his shoulders scrunching inward.

  “What?”

  “Here it comes.”

  “Doc.” I reached for him. “What can I do?”

  His gaze locked onto mine. “Stay back.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Stay back?

  I did just that for a few seconds, but there was no way I could just stand there and watch while Doc shuddered, his eyes, his face—everything—crumpling in pain.

  I had to do something.

  Rushing forward, I caught him as he started to teeter toward the stairs. I grabbed him by the shoulders, shoving him back against the wall with enough oomph that his head snapped back with a thud.

  “Sorry, Doc.”

  He didn’t seem to hear me.

  Under my palms, his muscles were rock hard, tense. Tremors tore through him with enough force to make my arms shake, too. I leaned against him hard, praying his knees didn’t buckle. Or mine.

  He groaned. Sweat streaked down from his temples. Heat radiated through his shirt—way too much heat. He was burning up under his clothes. I could feel the slickness of his skin through the thin cotton, smell his cologne or deodorant as if he’d just put it on.

  “Doc,” I said, making my voice strong, hard. “Look at me.”

  At first, I didn’t think he heard me. Then his eyes opened slowly. His pupils were fully dilated. He was looking at me all right, but I doubted he was seeing me.

  “Can you hear me, Doc?”

  “Yes.” It came out mixed with another groan.

  “Who am I?”

  “Vi—” A huge tremor rocked through him. His breath caught.

  “Doc,” I said “Stay with me.”

  His eyes started to roll back. I was losing him.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” I used Harvey’s trick and pinched Doc on the bicep—really hard.

  His focus snapped back, his eyes still dilated, but no longer lost.

  “Doc, who am I?” I asked again.

  “Violet.” His voice sounded raspy, as if he hadn’t used it in days. His tremors slackened, reduced to just quivering now.

  “Good.” I still held him against the wall, waiting to make sure he was fully back among the living before I stepped away.

  “Damn.” He gulped breaths, reminding me of the last time I’d chased the ice cream truck for a few blocks. “That hurt like hell.”

  I nodded. “I bet. You were shaking like crazy.”

  “I’m talking about your pinch.”

  “Oh.”

  He rubbed his arm where I’d worked my Harvey-inspired magic. “Did you have to do it so hard?”

  “I was saving you.”

  “Who taught you that life-saving technique? Nurse Ratched?”

  Nurse Ratched! I stepped back, my jaw gaping. “Of all of the ungrateful …” I almost pinched him again. “I was trying to keep you from keeling over so you didn’t break your neck falling down the damned stairs, thank you very much.”

  “Violet,” he started, but I wasn’t finished.

  “Next time, buddy boy,” I said, poking him in the chest with my index finger, simmering with leftover adrenaline to burn off. A wiser man wouldn’t have lit my flame. “I’m going to—”

  He caught my finger and tugged me against him, holding me tight. “I’m sorry,” he said over my head.

  “You should be.” I grumbled a few more choice words into his shirt before his calming touch doused my anger. From the ashes came the truth. “When you do that ghost-thing, it scares the shit out of me.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Still?”

  “It’s not really something I ever get used to. I’ve been trying to do more preparation before going into it, practicing some mental defenses and techniques someone told me about a long time ago. But when it’s an entity that’s new to me, like this one, I can only do so much to prime my mind. Mostly, I just have to stand here and wait for the maelstrom to hit. Although today, you were able to snap me out of it early, pulling me back to present day. That was a first …” he trailed off, as if lost in his thoughts.