Donegal Plantation sat back on Louisiana’s River Road, a grand dame—regal, elegant, and glorious. She was an icon of days gone by. Good days and bad days, certainly. For she had been built in the sweeping Colonial Southern style, and she immediately brought to mind a time of hoop skirts and mint juleps.
Grandeur—and cruelty.
Cotton had been king in the South, and while the Donegal family had been famous for their kind treatment and for allowing slaves to earn their freedom, slavery had still existed here.
To many the plantation was a fascinating glimpse at the days when the country was in turmoil, days when slavery had existed, when the prevalent mindset had longed for riches more than the freedom and equality of man.
To others, she was a spellbinding curiosity.
And to this day, despite political controversy, she offered up a re-enactment of a long-ago skirmish during which, history had shown, it hadn’t been war or ideals, but the jealousy and cruelty of one man which had brought about the death of the most famous member of the family.
Captain Marshall Donegal.
He and his beloved wife had been the main ghosts of the great house for decades, though sightings of them had ebbed in the last few years.
Rumor—cruel rumor—had even stated that Emma Donegal had killed her husband, furious with him for his infidelities. Except that there hadn’t been any infidelities, and eventually, the truth had been proven.
Donegal Plantation was beautiful. It echoed the glory and the agony of history. Now a museum, it was often used as a guesthouse as well. But for the month of October, no rooms were rented out. It was simply too crazy a time.
And, at the moment, Donegal Plantation was “haunted.”
Not just in reality. But also commercially, for the Halloween season.
An early 1800s hearse sat in the sweeping drive. The striking white pillars at the entrance were draped in black. Menacing witches on broomsticks were hung here and there along the antebellum porch—along with ghosts, goblins, and evilly grinning jack-o’-lanterns.
Driving up to the house, Ashley Donegal smiled—and let out a sigh at the same time. Donegal Plantation was her home. She loved it—fiercely. She was proud of the property. They had a re-enactment each year of the Civil War skirmish that had been fought here. And they laid it all out for the truth of what had been.
The good that had occurred.
And the bad.
Her grandfather, Frazier, was still alive. And, with the help of his employees Beth and Cliff, he kept Donegal plantation going with tours and events—such as Halloween.
So it was right and good that she was now on this trip to plan her wedding to Jake Mallory. It was here—years ago—her ancestor’s death had been proven to be a murder, not just an act of war. And it was here where they had solved the murders that had taken place then.
The murders that had brought her and Jake back together again.
She had been in love with Jake as long as she could remember. But it hadn’t been until her father’s death that Jake, a member of an elite unit of the FBI, had come back.
And they had been together ever since.
What had caused them to take so long to marry, she wasn’t sure. Probably because it hadn’t really mattered. They were together. But recently, they’d talked family. And in talking family…a wedding seemed the thing to do.
And if they were going to have a wedding, it was going to be at Donegal Plantation.
Now, in between the crazy Halloween tours and everything else, she was going to meet with her grandfather and Beth and plan her wedding. Her mom, long gone now, had dreamed of such an event. Her father, also gone many years, had thought it would be a grand idea. The plantation would be the perfect venue. And they could put up just about everyone who would come, which would be the majority of the Krewe of Hunters—Jake’s very elite team. Those who could get away, because the office could never be empty. There was never a time when they weren’t needed, even though the “unit” had grown by leaps and bounds and there were now more than twenty-five special KOH agents.
Naturally, she and Jake came back for the re-enactment every year. At one time, Ashley had been prominent in the planning of the event—the vendors, the tents, the history chats by visiting professors, the players in the skirmish themselves. In more recent years she hadn’t been as involved, and she missed being part of the history and education of the times gone by. She was proud that, despite everything that had happened there, the plantation continued with its traditions.
And though their home was now in Alexandria, Virginia, due to the Krewe, Donegal Plantation—and her grandfather—remained a major part of their lives.
* * * *
It was late when she arrived back home that night. She’d had a meeting with a professor in New Orleans who was going to take part next year in the re-enactment. She had been there for a few days already, but Jake had just flown in that afternoon.
She was anxious to see him, but before she went in, she paused to survey the house and grounds. They kept floodlights on by the door, and she could see the sweep of the lawn stretching ahead of her between the main house and the stable entrance. She thought, looking at the beauty of the surrounding oaks and the cemetery, they would have the reception out on the lawn, with the wedding inside, in the grand foyer. Her grandfather could walk her down the sweeping stairway and give her away.
It would all be just as her parents had envisioned long ago.
She hurried up the stairs and could already hear Jake in the kitchen, speaking with Beth Reardon, who managed the house. She glanced in quickly. Jake was talking security features and didn’t notice her presence.
Ashley slipped by and hurried into her room. She and Jake had been apart less than a week, and she was feeling excited–and a bit mischievous—now that he’d arrived.
She quickly showered, dried off, and donned one of her favorite robes.
Silk.
Soft as a whisper against her flesh.
In just seconds, Jake came into her bedroom.
He’d been an amazing boy—eight years old to her five—when they’d first met. Their parents had been friends.
And he’d been a tall, strapping teenager when they’d first fallen in love.
Her own fear of herself and life and death had come between them, but when murder had occurred at Donegal Plantation, she had seen him again.
He’d become the kind of man who automatically drew attention. Tall and broad-shouldered, perfectly fit. Dark and handsome.
But it wasn’t his appearance that had always called out to Ashley. It was a certain confidence in the way he lived, in the integrity that existed not just in his mind, but in his life and in his deeds.
“Thought you’d slip by me?” he teased.
“I didn’t want to interrupt you and Beth. You were meeting with one of the most beautiful women I know—in your robe.” She was teasing. Beth was beautiful, tall and exotic, from her dark skin to her mammoth eyes—and down to her soul as well. She had been born in Jamaica, and had come to Orleans Parish as a young adult. She’d fallen in love with Donegal Plantation when Ashley’s parents had been looking for someone to work in the house.
They had all fallen equally in love with Beth.
Jake didn’t take her seriously. He grimaced. “I’d showered. She thought you were back already. And I know that I’m almost irresistible in terry.” He smiled roguishly. “But I was waiting for you.” He motioned to the window. “Hot afternoon once I got here; went riding with Cliff to make sure the property was all good—what with Halloween and everything. I saw ads driving out.” He chuckled. “I forgot how crazy Donegal gets at Halloween.”
She grinned. “Taxes, maintenance, keeping the staff. We have to go a little crazy.”
“I know.” He moved to her. “And I love coming out for this. I’m just lucky I’m able to get the time.”
The Krewe of Hunters never ceased to amaze Ashley. She’d been stunned to realize it was possible for the human soul to remain—and that ghosts did exist. Now, after so many years, she took it in stride. She’d wasn’t a part of the Krewe; she’d become a tour guide in Alexandria, a city she had come to love with all her heart as well. That allowed her the freedom to come home as needed.
But she knew the Krewe well, from the original six members to the many who had joined since. And so she was aware that there was a host of people in the world who knew that the spirits of the dead could linger. Sometimes for help, and sometimes waiting because they might be needed. Sometimes, they went on. And sometimes they stayed, because they felt their presence was necessary.
She forgot the Krewe then, because Jake was holding her. She smiled and said softly, “It’s a beautiful night.”
“It is.”
“And… There’s nothing to mar it.”
He grinned at that. “Jackson will only call me if absolutely necessary, and with the Krewe we now have…”
She nodded and stepped away. The drapes were still open.
French doors allowed one to walk out on the wraparound balcony and look over the expanse of the property, all the way out to the graveyard, which boasted some of the finest funerary art in the country. The view offered more—beautiful night skies, the moon, the stars, and the sweet scent of the magnolias and other flowering trees.
She had been there for just a moment before she felt Jake’s presence, and then he was wrapping his arms around her.
She’d known he would follow.
“It’s going to be beautiful,” he whispered, pulling her back against his body.
She turned, looking at him. “I guess it did take us a while,” she whispered. “And… It will be beautiful. It wouldn’t matter though. I’ve known forever that I’d never want to be with anyone else for the rest of my life.”
“I’d have no life without you.”
She grinned. “God, you have quite a way with words.”
He smiled in turn. “So do you.”
He kissed her lips. Softly at first, and then more passionately.
Jake had a way of kissing. Teasing to start. The pressure of his lips gradually increasing. Adding his tongue with a promise of so much else…
He lifted her up into his arms. “I feel like we’ve been married forever.”
“Oh, good Lord, you don’t mean it’s getting old?”
“It’s always brand new for me,” he assured her.
They went back in and he set her down for a moment, hands sliding beneath the shoulders of her silk robe.
She stilled his movement. “Not that I think anyone is lurking around the porch, but…”
He quickly closed the drapes and came back to her, hands on the silk robe again, sliding it to the floor this time.
“You’re beautiful,” he told her.
“Your words are good. Very, very good,” she said, and pulled at the belt of his robe, repeating his action. Silk and terry seemed to tangle on the floor, as if the robes themselves were entwined in passion.
She stepped back a moment and smiled. “You really are beautiful too.”
He laughed, swept her back into his arms, and laid her on the bed, falling beside her. “Brand new,” he whispered. “Like the first time I touched you.” He caressed her cheek. “Except I anticipate it more than ever now.” He stroked down her neck. “Because what might have existed in my imagination for so long can never compare to what I know to be real.”
He kissed her again and then maneuvered her to the side to lift her hair and kiss the back of her neck. Then lower and lower and lower, until his mouth brushed the small of her back. He turned her again, his kiss, his touch so intimate that she stifled a cry as she reached down, drawing him back up. Their mouths met with urgency and hunger, hot and very wet. She twisted in his arms, her mouth free again, and delivered kisses all over his skin. Marveling at the tautness of it, at the sleek muscles he’d built up in order to be the best possible agent in the field… And because that was Jake.
Physical.
Wonderful.
She teased him until he let out a hoarse cry, then their lips connected again as he moved over her. And then into her.
And she was in awe that he was right. Everything was perfect.
Each time they made love.
His flesh became as slick as her own. A feeling built inside her, one that she wished would last forever. And yet urgent, so urgent. Building like the storms that sweep over Southern skies. As potent, as tempestuous.
Moving… Reaching… Arching… Writhing…
And then stars to match those outside seemed to swim before her eyes.
Jake, breathing at her side, his heart beating like the drums on Bourbon Street…
“Hmm. Think we should have waited until we were married?” he laughed.
She hit him with a pillow.
“It would have been one hell of a wait,” she told him.
He laid back with a contemplative look. “Married, though. I like it.”
And, snuggling against him, she agreed.
They were home—or, at least, the place that would always be home in Ashley’s heart. It was a good feeling. A safe one.
So they made love again. And then once again.
And with the extreme intimacy between them, which had only grown over time, they slept.
But maybe it was that—being home. Home. Here. Donegal, where the dead had first entered her dreams.
Because as Ashley slept, she began to dream again.
She wasn’t at the plantation. She was an hour away, in the heart of New Orleans. Walking down Bourbon Street.
She seldom headed to Bourbon Street, the commercial heart of the French Quarter. She usually had friends playing Uptown, or in the Garden District, on St. Charles or Magazine Street. She had nothing against the bars and strip clubs and all else that existed in the Quarter. In fact, she particularly loved Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop, now a bar. A touch of history from the time when pirates had ruled the city—and helped to save it and the country from the massive power of Great Britain. But even so, she rarely visited.
And still, she walked.
Maybe she was headed down from Canal toward Esplanade, perhaps on her way to Lafitte’s. She could see partiers in the street. Some wide-eyed, some slightly staggering, having been, perhaps, just a wee bit over-served. She could hear the music coming from a dozen bars, each vying to have the loudest, best, most enticing entertainment. Hawkers vended beer and spirits on the sidewalks in front of a few of the establishments, and scantily clad women stood at dark doorways, enticing many to enter their dens of desire and…dance.
A young woman suddenly appeared before her.
“Please,” she whispered.
The girl had to be in her early twenties. She had long, golden hair and enormous brown eyes. A pretty face, with round cheeks and a generous mouth. She seemed incredibly distressed and Ashley stopped walking. She looked around for one of the mounted policemen who patrolled the Quarter, but she didn’t see anyone who resembled law enforcement or security.
“Can I help you? Do you need a ride? Are you lost?” Ashley asked worriedly.
The girl shook her head. Giant tears appeared in her eyes.
“Please, please, help me,” she said. She reached out, as if she would touch Ashley’s face, as if she was desperate for human contact.
“I’m happy to help you. But what’s wrong? I can’t help if I don’t understand the problem.”
“You must… You must… You see me here… Please…”
From somewhere, a chorus from a “Journey” song became loud. The sounds of the revelers on the street suddenly seemed like a cacophony.
And then the young woman gasped. “They’re coming!”
“They? Who?” Ashley turned to see what had so distressed the girl.
There was darkness. Like a flock of ravens, or a massive ball of dark mist. Or storm clouds making their way down the street.
“Please,” Ashley heard the whisper and turned back.
But the young woman was gone.
What in God’s name?
Ashley turned again. The mist was coming. She felt it as it came closer. It did look like a whir of raven-dark wind, or the sky when a bad storm threatens. And it moved, sweeping down the street. And in it, she sensed…
Danger. Malignance.
Evil.
She wanted to turn and run. It was coming closer and closer.
Coming for her.
Then she heard something, something different from the music of Bourbon Street, from the laughter of the ever-so-slightly inebriated, the hawkers, the vendors, the chatter, the neon…
It was a sharp sound.
And she woke with a start.
It was Jake’s cell phone. He’d answered it, sitting up on the bed.
She knew he was speaking with Jackson Crow, field supervisor for his special division within the bureau.
And also, she knew.
She knew the young woman in her dream had been murdered.
And the ghost of the girl had come to her.