Ghost Walk

“An incredible storyteller!”

—Los Angeles Daily News

“Graham…has penned yet another spine-tingling romantic suspense.”

—Booklist on Picture Me Dead

“Graham’s tight plotting, her keen sense of when to reveal and when to tease…will keep fans turning the pages.”

—Publishers Weekly on Picture Me Dead

“Graham delivers a wonderfully inventive read.”

—Romantic Times on Picture Me Dead

“Graham builds jagged suspense that will keep readers guessing up to the final pages.”

—Publishers Weekly on Hurricane Bay

“Heather Graham writes with a unique passion for the characters and world of South Florida.”

—BookPage on Hurricane Bay

“This gripping tale strikes a perfect balance between romance and intrigue.”

—Publishers Weekly on Night of the Blackbird

“Spectacular and dazzling work…”

—Booklist on Eyes of Fire

HEATHER GRAHAM

GHOST WALK

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

MIRA is a registered trademark of Harlequin Enterprises Limited, used under licence.

Published in Great Britain 2005

MIRA Books, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,

Richmond, Surrey, TW9 1SR

© Heather Graham 2005

ISBN 9781408955864

For Molly Bolden, with all the love in the

world. Also, for Bent Pages, and the girls,

Kay Levine, Michelle Bergeron,

Bonnie Moore, Jolene Leonard

and Betti Basile.

And for Connie Perry, Al, Scott, Stacy, Josh

and Me Maw, and the Ladies of Louisiana,

Brenda Barrett, Lorna Broussard,

Karin David Debby Quebedeaux

and Mary Lomack.

There’s nowhere like New Orleans,

but people always create the heart in

the why we love a place!

About the Author

New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Heather Graham majored in theater arts at the University of South Florida. Heather grew up in Dade County, Florida, and toured Europe and parts of Asia and Africa as part of her studies.

After college, she acted in dinner theaters, modeled, waitressed, and tended bar. After the birth of her third child, she decided to stay home and was determined to commit herself to her dream: writing. She sold her first book in 1982. She is also now the mother of five!

Today, this author’s success is reflected not just by sales, with millions of copies of her books in print around the world and translated into over fifteen languages, but in many other ways. In addition to being a best-selling author, Heather has received numerous awards for her novels, and has been quoted in People and USA Today, been profiled in The Nation, and featured in Good Housekeeping. Her books have been selected by the Doubleday Book Club and the Literary Guild.

She has written over one hundred novels and novellas including category, romantic suspense, historical romance, vampire fiction, time travel, occult, and Christmas-themed holiday stories. Heather Graham writes for MIRA books and under the name Shannon Drake, writes for HQN Books.

Somehow, this prolific author manages to juggle it all—a family of five, married since high school graduation and a truly remarkable career.

Prologue

The child awoke, not sure why. He could hear voices from the living room, but they were hushed, and though he immediately sensed a strangeness in their tone, he knew they hadn’t been loud enough to wake him.

He lay there, wondering.

Then he felt it.

Exactly what “it” was, he didn’t know. But it wasn’t frightening. It was just a sense of being comforted, like a blanket, like the soft brush of a feather, entirely pleasant. He felt enveloped by gentleness, care and concern. Even strength.

All the different tales that had been told to him seemed to blend together. There was a mist in the room that echoed the stories of the Great Spirit. He thought he heard a cry on the air, barely discernible, a soft keening. Perhaps it was only in his mind, but it might have been the distant cry of the banshee.

He wasn’t frightened.

Whatever it was…a mist, a shape, nothing concrete, but yet…it was there and it touched him, reassured him. The bathroom light was on; the little night-light was always kept on for him, even though he was five and already quite grown up.

But he knew that the mist or whatever it was had nothing to do with light or dark. It was simply there. It was a kiss on the forehead, a promise that everything was all right. It wasn’t a something but a someone, he thought. Someone who loved him and needed him to know that he was loved in return. Someone who had entered…

The kiss again, and the feeling of love, somehow deeper than anything real. And there were words, but not words that could be heard. They were words he simply felt.

Another world…

When the door opened quietly, he lay still. He could hear the tears in his grandfather’s voice as he whispered to his uncle, “He’s sleeping. There’s no need to wake him.”

He wanted to rise, to wrap his arms around his grandfather, to tell him that it—whatever it was—was going to be okay. But something held him silent, eyes closed, pretending he was sleeping. They were whispering again.

He was a strong child. He would be fine.

But he was an only child. He would be so alone.

No. It would be all right. He would have the rest of his family. And he was one of a great Brotherhood. He would be all right.

He definitely didn’t want anyone to know that he was awake, listening, and that in their words he had already grasped the sense of tragedy that was tearing them apart.

He was afraid that if he made the slightest sound, he might lose the precious sense of the light, the touch…the love that surrounded him.

Finally they left, the door closed.

It was in the morning that his grandfather spoke with him, stoic as always, firm in his belief in the Great Spirit, God, the Creator. There would always be an end to life here on earth, his grandfather told him, and it was how each man lived it that mattered, not the length of his lifespan. There was a world beyond, and it did not matter what a man called that world; it was simply there. His parents were gone from this place, and they could not be with him, not in the now. Nothing could hurt them anymore, ever. All they would know in the future would be the tender grace of their Maker. He—no matter what one chose to call him—would watch out for them.

His grandfather was wise, and yet the boy couldn’t help but wonder if he himself wasn’t more at peace than the man who would now raise him. His grandfather’s eyes were filled with pain. He didn’t fully feel the truth of his own words; he hadn’t felt the gentle touch.

The boy slipped his hand into his grandfather’s, then touched his face. His grandfather offered him the wisdom of the native peoples; his mother had brought him the fanciful mystery of a faraway country and the beliefs of the Old South. “It will be all right,” he said simply, knowing his parents were still alive in his heart and would always watch over him from above.

“My boy.” His grandfather wrapped him close.

Yes, the boy thought, his parents would be fine, in a world past all pain, all strife. But all the same, they were gone.

His father would never throw him up in the air again, play ball with him, teach him, tell him tales of the Great Spirit. And his mother would never match those tales with her own Gaelic whimsies. The soft tinkle of her laughter would not come again, nor would she tell him that he was a big boy, yet tuck him into bed anyway.

They would never offer him their deep, unconditional love again…

No, that wasn’t true.

He knew that love as deep and abiding as theirs had been was eternal. And there was comfort in that, a comfort that could ease loss and pain.

But there were other elements in the world that were also eternal.

Just as there was love, there was hatred.

Just as there was gratitude, there was vengeance.

He believed that he had a gift, and that his gift was special. But it wasn’t long before he learned that he was destined to face far more than the soft touch of love in the night.

Contents

About the Author

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

COMING NEXT MONTH

1

“Six, please,” Nikki DuMonde said. “Six.” She was smiling, but firm as she emphasized the number, indicating the tray where there were only five cups of café au lait. She and Andrea Ciello were in line at Madame D’Orso’s, as they so often were. Madame herself was wonderful, but apparently she was busy, and the young woman behind the counter seemed overwhelmed. It seemed quiet enough right now. Though many of the little terrace tables were taken, there was only one other person inside the café at the moment, and he was slumped against the far wall. She glanced toward him. He had looked up once and had an attractive face, eyes that were intelligent, cheekbones hard and sculpted. But his clothes were ragged, with a slept-in look; he was unshaven, and his hair was shaggy and unkempt.

“Six coffees, six orders of beignets,” Andy added, flashing a smile as the girl added a cup to the tray along with plates filled with the delicious pastries so famous in New Orleans—and better, in the minds of the locals at Madame’s than any other place in the world. “S’il vous plaît,” she added.

As the girl turned to ring up their order, Andy assessed Nikki with her exotic dark eyes. “My treat today,” she said.

“Don’t be silly.”

“No, ever since I came aboard, you’ve been wonderful.” She had only been a tour guide for Myths and Legends of New Orleans for about four weeks. For Nikki, it was old hat.

“Hey, we all rely on each other, since we always work in pairs. And you’re doing just fine.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Andy said, tossing a length of her sleek dark hair over one shoulder. “I know all the stories, and sometimes I get chills, like there’s someone looking over my shoulder. But you…Nikki, it’s like you see ghosts.”

Nikki shrugged, glancing around the café. “Maybe it’s just ingrained,” she said. “I went to school with half the palm readers and voodoo queens working the Quarter these days. I guess it’s like…well, walking into any place that’s really historical…and…”

Nikki frowned and floundered, looking for the right word.

“Creepy?” Andy suggested.

Nikki shook her head. “Where deep feelings existed, where trauma occurred—like Westminster Abbey in London. When you walk in there—”

“The place is like one giant cemetery,” Andy said dryly.

Nikki laughed. “Yeah, it is. But you can get the same feeling at a Civil War battle site—even with all the bodies removed. I guess it’s a way of feeling the past, of history, people, the emotions. Remnants of the lives that were lived there, lost there.”

“You see ghosts,” Andy said, nodding sagely.

“I do not see ghosts.”

“You have an affinity for them.”

Nikki was growing uncomfortable. “No. I told you. It’s just a feeling of…history and the human condition, that’s all,” she said firmly. “Everyone gets it at some point, at some place.”

Andy reflected a moment. “Well, I do feel something in several of the cemeteries. And now and then in the cathedral, there’s a kind of…vibe.”

“Exactly,” Nikki agreed. She reached for the tray, but Andy was getting it, so she turned to head back to their table and nearly screamed.

The derelict had risen. He was in front of her, his mouth working, as he reached for her.

She couldn’t help but recoil, but even so his hands touched her shoulders. She thought he was going to collapse against her, but he straightened, his mouth still working as if he was trying to say something.

He needed money, she thought.

“Here,” she said quickly, reaching into her purse. She pulled out a bill and, pity replacing her feelings of revulsion, said, “Get yourself a real meal, please. No alcohol or drugs, please. Get food.”

She felt his touch again as she went quickly past him, Andy in her wake, hurrying with the tray.

The others were outside, but before they could reach the table, Andy said softly, “Nikki, that was really kind of you.”

“He’ll probably just drink it or shoot it up his arm,” Nikki said.

“No, maybe not. Actually, he didn’t look like a junkie.”

“Just a bum.”

“There but for the grace of God go I,” Andy murmured beneath her breath. Nikki turned to look at her, but Andy shook her head. She had been in trouble with drugs; she’d been dead honest with Nikki when the two had first met. She’d been clean for years, however. She seldom even drank now, unless it was a special night out, a celebration.

At the moment, however, she clearly didn’t want to say any more, not in front of the friends waiting for them: Nathan, Julian, Mitch and Patricia.

They all worked for the same tour company, and they were making a success of it, despite the competition in New Orleans. Maximilian Dupuis, the founder of the business, had taken Nikki on board first. Max had found her through the articles she’d been writing for one of the local tourist papers.

Max himself was really something. Tall, dark and bony, he resembled a vampire and could have haunted New Orleans just fine himself, though the cigars he loved to chomp on kind of ruined the impression. Nor was he really interested in ghostly occurrences himself.

Max was out to make a buck.

His brilliance was in putting together what the public wanted and in the art of delegating, he had told Nikki. He’d had the cash to start up the business, she’d had the ability and the knowledge. When he’d hired her, she’d suggested bringing in Julian, who’d been her best friend forever. As they’d prospered, they’d added the rest.

Nikki was Max’s number two. She was responsible for hiring new guides, then for training them. It worked out well, since Max didn’t particularly like to stick around and run the business. Max liked his money and having other people work for him, so he could travel the globe. At the moment he was hiking in Colorado.

“That took long enough,” Patricia said as they approached the table.

“Nikki was flirting,” Andy teased.

“Oh?” Patricia Broussard had been born and bred in Cajun country, and, like Andy, she had long dark hair. Her eyes were equally dark, and her grin was entirely impish. “Nikki’s got a guy?”

“Very mysterious,” Andy said.

“I gave a bum a dollar,” Nikki said, shaking her head.

“She gave him a twenty,” Andy corrected.

“He looked like he needed it,” Nikki said quickly as Julian stared at her in surprise.

“Actually, he looked like he might be pretty handsome if you cleaned him up a bit,” Andy said.

“You gave a bum a twenty?” Mitch, their out-of-towner, a blonde from Pittsburgh, demanded. “Wow…you’re making a lot more in tips than I am.”

“She’s cuter,” Patricia told him.

“He just seemed really needy,” Nikki explained. “So let’s get past this moment, shall we?”

“No, I like this conversation. All work and no play, Nikki…” Nathan, who was living with Patricia, teased.

“Actually,” Patricia said, eyeing Julian and then Nikki, “most people think you two are a couple.”

“Ugh,” Julian said.

“Thanks,” Nikki told him.

“No, no, that wasn’t about you,” Julian protested quickly.

“I know,” Nikki assured him. She stared at Patricia. “It’s just that we’ve known each other forever. It’s like a brother/sister thing. Now can we get down to business?”

But Nathan grinned, leaning forward. “Nikki, forget business. We’ve got to get you set up with someone.”

She sighed deeply. “I do not want to be set up with anyone.”

“Her last excursion into amore didn’t go so well,” Julian said with a dramatic sigh. “But, then, I did tell her not to date the creep.”

“I’ve never seen you date,” Patricia told her.

“That’s because she hasn’t in nearly a year,” Julian informed them.

“What? Why, that’s…un-American,” Mitch protested.

Nikki groaned, clenching her teeth. “He wasn’t a creep. He just wanted to go off to Hollywood and get rich and famous.”

“And he wanted Nikki to come along and support him while he did,” Julian said dryly.

“We had different agendas,” Nikki said firmly. “I love this business and I love New Orleans. I like California, but I want to live here. He really wasn’t a jerk.”

“Not a total jerk,” Patricia interjected. “He was really good looking, and he could be really sweet.”

“Sweet?” Mitch queried politely.

“Flowers, opening doors…the little things. But in the big things, he wanted his own way.”

“See, I just don’t think that she felt that thing for him, you know? Good-looking guy, charming…but when it’s just not there, it’s just not there,” Nathan said.

“Yeah, but if you always had to wait for it to be there,” Mitch laughed, “I’d spend a lot more nights alone than I already do. No wonder you’re so tense, Nikki.”

“I’m not tense,” Nikki said.

“Yeah, and if you don’t get off it, she’ll talk to Max and see that your ass is fired,” Patricia warned sweetly.

“Ouch!” Mitch said.

“Guys, please,” Nikki said. “I’m busy, and I’m discerning, and I take my time, okay? And right now we need to worry about work, okay?”

Julian turned to Andy. “Just how decent would this bum of hers be if we cleaned him up?”

“Pretty decent,” Andy said thoughtfully. “He just looked…down on his luck.”

“Okay, guys, playtime over,” Nikki said firmly. “Julian, Greg wasn’t that much of a creep, just a little self-centered. I had no intention of going anywhere with him, so it was fun, but it’s over. And thanks, but I don’t want to date the bum. I’m fine. I love my apartment, love my work and enjoy my friendship with all you guys. I’m normal, not tense, and when I want to date, I will.”

“Maybe she’s working the strip clubs at night under an alias,” Mitch teased. She shot him a glare from blue-green eyes. He lifted his hands. “I’m going to behave now. Really.”

“Okay, guys, I’ve got notes from Max. Mitch, you’re welcome to introduce any new story, as long as you validate it first. Julian, if anyone makes you feel uncomfortable on the walks, tell them you’re married.”

“What?” Julian said, startled.

Nikki shrugged. “That’s what Max said to tell you. He said it works for him all the time.”

“Oh, really? Who would be trying to pick up old Max?” Julian demanded.

“Oh, come on,” Patricia protested. “Max is cute—in a creepy kind of way.”

“Great. I say I’m married, then when the right person comes along…they think that I’m married or a liar,” Julian said. “There goes my social life.” He groaned. “I’ll end up like Nikki.”

“Oh, come on, will you guys please, please leave me alone?” Nikki demanded.

“That bum is looking better and better,” Julian said to Nathan.

“You didn’t even see him,” Nikki protested, irritated.

“We’re just trying to help,” Nathan said.

“I don’t want to be helped,” Nikki snapped. “Hey—work on Andy for a while, huh?”

On cue, they all turned to stare at Andy. She laughed. “Nikki, they don’t know me as well. I won’t be nearly as much fun to torture.”

“Besides, Andy is a flirt,” Nathan said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Really?” Andy said.

“Yeah, really,” Mitch assured her.

Andy giggled. “Okay…I am a flirt. I admit it.”

“You can flirt with me anytime,” Julian teased.

“And if he’s not around, and you’re looking for a good solid Yankee boy…” Mitch suggested.

“Never play where you work, that’s what Mom always said,” Andy told them with a sad shake of her head.

“Well, you could just sleep with me,” Mitch said. “We wouldn’t have to play at all.”

“Hey! Go back to torturing Nikki, will you?” Andy demanded.

“If you all don’t quit, tomorrow night’s off,” Nikki said.

“The tour is off?” Julian asked, puzzled.

“Of course not,” Nikki said patiently. “If you’d all just behave like adults and listen… We had a record month. Max is going to pay for a celebration at Pat O’Brien’s. Dinner and drinks on him, tomorrow, after the night tour.”

“All right!” Mitch cried happily.

At that moment Madame D’Orso made one of her sweeping appearances, bearing her elegant coffeepot, chatting with her guests.

And they were special guests. Their tours met in front of her place, bringing her lots of business.

“It’s calmed down out here some, huh?” Nikki asked her.

“Yes. Not that I complain about business, but we had a busy late lunch crowd today,” she told them, pouring them more coffee. At her place, it was premixed. Café au lait meant café au lait.

“Hey,” Mitch said to her, setting a friendly hand on her back, just above her waist. The gesture wasn’t flirtatious, just affectionate. Mitch was in his late twenties. Madame was in her late…well, hard to tell, but she was a few decades older. “Should Nikki date the bum who was in your place?”

“What bum?”

“You didn’t see him?” Andy asked.

“Honey, I wouldn’t have noticed if Robert E. Lee stopped in. It was busy in there today. As if this parish isn’t nutty enough, it’s election time. Campaigners, do-gooders and politicians everywhere, thick as flies. There’s those trying to clean up the place, make New Orleans a ‘family’ destination. And then there’s those trying to keep her wild, wicked and free.” She removed Mitch’s hand, grinned and moved on.

“Damn. Wish I’d seen the bum. Then I’d know if we could clean him up enough or not,” Mitch said with a wink.

“Drop it. Or there will be no free meal for you tomorrow night,” Nikki warned him.

“It’s dropped,” he assured her.

Nikki rose. She could see a tour group gathering out front. “Julian, it’s showtime. Andy, you’re following along. Patricia, Nathan, don’t forget you’re on tonight.”