Kenzie had stepped out into the cold on the porch to call Bowman again while Pierce settled the tab. She'd explained to him where she and Pierce had gone. "Seriously?" Bowman had asked. He'd been slightly out of breath, as though he'd been running.
"We're going to wait and see if he manifests," Kenzie said. "Then I'm going to kick his ass."
"Be careful." Bowman's rumbling voice warned her. "If he's been lying to us, it means he's dangerous. I'm coming out there."
"No need," Kenzie said. "Pierce is pretty good in a fight." An understatement-he was one of the best fighters at the fight club, next to his cousin Jamie. "I promise if things go bad, we'll back off."
Bowman hesitated. She could tell he was torn-he wanted to come, but it was clear he was involved in things on his side. "All right, but keep in touch."
"What are you doing?" Kenzie asked, worried.
"Stuff I should have done days ago. I'm taking over Turner's house, holding him, and searching everything he's got. He's going to give me some answers."
"You be careful," Kenzie said, echoing his warning. Chasing Gil suddenly seemed like a picnic-a Shifter one, with plenty of food, drink, and sex. "I've read parts of Turner's manuscript. He seems to know a lot about Shifters, I mean, back when they first appeared out of Fae gates. He speculates pretty close to the truth about how the original Shifters were created. He knows a lot about it, Bowman. More than anyone should."
"Good. Then he'll tell it all to me. I'll wring the truth out of him."
"And if you hurt him, he'll call the police, and you'll be arrested, caged, and probably killed."
Bowman laughed with the snarling laugh he used when he was at his most angry. "In that case, I'll let Cristian wring him in half for me. Don't worry, Kenz. Turner will talk to me, not the police."
Kenzie hung up, not reassured.
She and Pierce waited, restless, and sipped beers. They didn't talk much. The honeymoon couple remained entwined, oblivious, their drinks untouched.
At around one, the bartender sent them a nod. "If you want to see the ghost, he usually shows up about now."
Kenzie was on her feet and leaving the bar. She heard Pierce drop a tip on the table and follow her.
The hotel's main staircase folded into the wall to the right of the front door. At the other end of the lofty main hall, however, behind the check-in counter, another set of stairs rose to a balcony. This staircase had an open balustrade with carved spindles and a polished railing. The gallery above it encircled the hall, with several doors opening off it.
Those were rooms in the original house, the woman who introduced herself as the innkeeper explained, and dated from 1840. The rest of the mansion had been added starting in the 1870s, with renovations continuing into the first decade of the twentieth century. The man who was now the ghost had lived here in the 1860s, adopted by the family when he was in his teens. He now returned to check on the place, it was said, to make sure the house his adopted family had left him was doing well.
Sure he does. Kenzie trained her glare on the balcony.
The older couple from the bar had been joined by two younger ones, and even the honeymoon couple emerged. All turned eagerly toward the staircase and gallery.
They waited. The large case clock in the hall struck half past one, then ticked on toward two.
One of the men behind her let out a long sigh. "He's not going to show. I'm going to bed."
He started to move, then his wife gasped, and Pierce said, "Whoa."
Gil was there, on the balcony at the far end of the hall. He hadn't been a second ago, but Kenzie blinked and then saw him in the shadows.
He was dressed in the old clothes he'd worn in the photo, including the rather battered hat, and stood so that the indirect light made his outline a little fuzzy. His smooth face was blank, his eyes strangely still as he gazed straight ahead, not looking down into the hotel. For a ghost reputed to be checking on his adopted family's home, he seemed not to notice it.
"He's really here," a woman whispered. The click of a phone's camera went off. "He's so lifelike."
Kenzie hid a snort and cupped her hands around her mouth. "Hey, Gil," she called.
He was good. Gil never looked at her, never moved his ghostly hand from where it rested on the railing, but Kenzie saw him start, saw his eyes flicker.
With a suddenness that had the rest of the guests jumping, she launched herself down the length of the hall, past the polished check-in counter, and up the gallery stairs.
"Shit," Pierce said, and banged out the front door.
The innkeeper trotted futilely after Kenzie. "Wait-you can't go up there."
Gil performed to the end. He slowly lifted his hand and took a step back . . . and vanished.
Gone. Just like that. Kenzie blinked. Was he really a . . . ?
No. Ghosts didn't exist, just as zombies didn't. There's no such thing as the walking dead, Bowman had growled.
Gil had to be using magic. Some kind of shaman magic that confused the eye, maybe, or a glam, as Ryan had speculated. Kenzie's skepticism helped her see a flutter of movement at one of the doors, and hear a click as a latch caught.
Kenzie ran down the gallery to the door. It was locked. The manager came behind her, her voice distressed. "You can't go in there!"
Kenzie could go anywhere she wanted. The door was solid, but Kenzie was strong. A few well-placed kicks, and she was through. The manager shrieked and headed back to the stairs, no doubt to call the police.
The room Kenzie found herself in was old, dusty, and used for storage. The only light came from behind her-the yellow glow of the downstairs chandelier, dimmed for the night-but her Shifter sight let her see well enough. French doors on the other side of the room were closed, but a cold draft told Kenzie they'd been open moments before.
She dodged haphazardly placed furniture and boxes and flung open one of the doors. Modern ones, she saw, with shiny brass fittings. Someone would need a new key to get in from the outside.
The French doors led out onto a balcony. The night was so quiet she easily heard a thump below as someone landed on dirt, then the sound of feet running away.
"Ghost, my ass!" Kenzie shouted after him. "When I catch you, Gil, you will be a ghost."
She leapt to the balcony's railing, balanced on it a moment, and sprang off into darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Cade watched Bowman, a worried look in his bear-brown eyes. Bowman growled in irritation and continued to shove Turner's books to the floor.
They'd reached the trailer house in the woods to find no one home. The front door had been locked-Bowman remembered the keypad on the inside-but the doorframe was weak enough for a Shifter to pull off. Cristian had done that, in fact. Bowman also remembered Turner boasting about electrifying the windows, but Jamie found the junction box and made short work of the wiring.
Most of the papers fluttering out of books and folders-charts with such labels as "Diaspora," colorful bar graphs, and what looked like mathematical equations-meant nothing at all to Bowman. Cristian kept picking things up, saying, "Interesting," and not bothering to explain why.
Bowman searched for something he could use, such as a recorded payment to a sniper, or receipts for supplies to breed a monster, but he found nothing. Turner's desktop computer booted up without a password, but there was nothing on it-according to Jamie, who was clicking away with the mouse. Pierce would be better at determining that, but right now Pierce was looking after Kenzie.
Who was haring around after Gil. Kenzie would get him-Bowman knew she would-and Pierce would help her. That's my girl.
He hated the thought of Pierce out there with her. Once upon a time, Pierce had touched Kenzie, kissed her, listened while she laughed at him in her dusky, sultry voice . . .
"Bowman?" Cade asked. "You all right?"
Bowman found himself standing in the middle of the room, the papers in his hand shredding under his twisting fingers. He cleared his throat.
"I'm fine. Keep going. I want everything he's ever written gone through. Then we track him down."
"Yeah." Cade's concern didn't go away. Bowman's rage had mounted to a place where he'd soon lose control; one spark from his Collar confirmed that.
He needed to find Turner and beat answers out of him, then find Kenzie and let her soothe him down. She was the only one who ever could.
* * *
Kenzie landed on her feet, the impact jarring, but she was up and running in seconds. She might not be as graceful as a Feline, but out of all the Shifters, Lupines made the best hunters. Or so Uncle Cristian always said.