It was past dark, but lights illuminated the Wicks Hollow streets, so Fiona wasn’t nervous about walking along by herself. After Gideon left, she’d pulled her car out of the secluded back alley and drove down to The Roost, a dive only a few blocks from Trib’s, to grab a quick dinner.

As she sat at the bar’s counter—sticky from years of spilled beer and cocktails—and ate what the place called a veggie burger (something frozen with the consistency of cardboard), she refused to let herself dwell on the image of Gideon picking up Rachel at seven o’clock at night.

Just in time for dinner.

“Oh, Gideon, I’m just starving. Maybe we should stop at a fancy-schmancy restaurant and share a bottle of very expensive wine now that we’re together.” She could just hear Rachel’s cultured voice and low, throaty laugh.

Stop that, Fi.

The problem was, she’d met the elegant, self-assured, polished woman…so it was no hardship for Fiona’s mind to conjure up all types of images and scenes—detailed and very disturbing.

Why should she trust Gideon anyway? Why should she even care?

Because I don’t lie.

And his hand—that elegant, sexy, powerful one—had told her the same. He didn’t lie. He was honest and filled with integrity.

Despite the meal she was picking at, her stomach felt hollow—like she hadn’t eaten for days.

A short time later, as she walked the block to her car after the unsatisfying meal, Fiona realized she’d left Ethan’s house key back at the shop. She’d been so determined to leave when Gideon did—blithe and uncaring that the man she’d had ahhh-mazing sex with was rushing off to help his friends-with-benefits-friend, that she’d neglected to grab the ring with her brother’s key.

For crying out loud, Fi—you spend one night with a man and you’re miserable the next time he’s got to run off and do something that doesn’t include you.

Well, she retorted smartly to herself, I think it’s justified since the so-called problem is another woman.

At least he’d brought tulips for her.

She shivered—partly because of the chill night air coming in from nearby Lake Michigan, and partly at the thought of her mother’s reprimand—a reprimand that had reverberated in her head since she was ten.

“Don’t get attached to them, don’t rely on them, don’t feel for them,” Claudia Murphy had told her over and over again. “They’re good for a good time, but we don’t need them for anything else. They’ll only take advantage of you.”

Not that Claudia spoke from experience. No, she’d never been the one to tell the men in her life when to come and when to go. It wasn’t that her mother was promiscuous—she didn’t sleep with men indiscriminately. She just didn’t have much use for them other than sex, and to move heavy things around the house. In fact, Claudia was an equal-opportunity lover, as Ethan called it—sleeping with whoever caught her fancy, male or female.

Regardless, Claudia had instilled in Fiona the need to be in control in any situation with a man, and to always call the shots. But nothing her mother had ever told her prepared Fiona for the confusing feelings Gideon Nath created in her.

The problem was, as irritating as he could be, as arrogant and stuffy as he was, she liked him, liked being around him…and, horror of horrors, had begun to actually care about what happened to him.

And that was exactly why, Fiona told herself firmly as she navigated her Beetle onto Violet Way, it was good that Rachel—for who else could it have been?—had called to ask for his help. It served as a reality check for Fiona, and she was going to force herself to remember that getting involved with a man was the last thing she wanted or needed to do.

Fiona spewed a huge puff of air from her mouth and rolled her eyes heavenward. What she really should do was back off from the man for a couple days to catch her breath. There’d been too much, too soon.

Of course, it had only been one night…one glorious, crazy, incredible night. Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe—

Fiona stopped short in front of her shop door, keys dangling in her hand. There was only a faint light in the back of the store. She peered in the window, cupping her hand around it to peer closer.

Sure enough, the store was dark except for the faintest flicker of light shining from the rear of the shop. Hadn’t she turned the front lights on? After the break-in a few weeks ago, she’d always left at least three or four of them on. She really had been distracted when she walked out the back door with Gideon.

A little nervous in spite of herself, Fiona fitted the key into the lock of the door. A prickle skittered up her spine as she opened the door. Now that she had found the skeleton—especially now that she had found the skeleton—she slightly nervous about being in there alone, at night.

“I’ll just step in and turn on a few lights,” she said aloud to calm her nervousness. “Right at the front. The tall one right by the door, and the table lamp on the other side.”

The chimes above tinkled faintly in the silence, seeming to echo in her ears long after they stopped. She reached for the lamp next to the door and yanked the chain. Light, welcome light, spilled into the store, casting a golden glow around her at the front door.

Fiona was just reaching for the table lamp on the other side of the entrance when she noticed a metallic glint on the floor by the desk. Frowning, forgetting her apprehension, she stepped into the body of the store and the door tinkled shut behind her.

The glint formed the shape of a circle as she drew closer, and when she stooped to pick it up, Fiona saw that it was a flashlight—its glass face reflecting the light at the front of the store. Her stomach plummeted as she realized that it had not been on the floor by the desk when she and Gideon left that evening.

Just then, something stirred behind her and she shrieked, whirling, just as pain—and then darkness crashed—down upon her.

* * *

“Thanks so much for rescuing me, Gideon,” Rachel said as she slid into the leather seat. She smiled her brilliant smile, displaying perfect teeth and great self-confidence, as she clicked the seat belt buckle into place.

“No problem,” he replied, steering the car out of the parking lot where Rachel’s silver Lexus sat waiting for service. “I wanted to talk to you anyway.”

“Good. Want to grab a bite? I’m starving.” She settled back in the seat, resting her head against the headrest. “I’m so tired.” Her eyes fluttered closed.

“You’ve been running yourself ragged lately since the awards were announced,” he said automatically, then kicked himself for bringing it up. He was supposed to be her escort to the party celebrating the fact that her firm had won the prestigious, sought-after Hottest Midwest Company of the Year from Fortune magazine. She wasn’t going to be too happy when he backed out of it.

“I know. I thought that I’d be so energized by the award that I’d get through these weeks like a breeze…but maybe I’m just getting old. It’s starting to wear on me.” She turned, opening her eyes to glance at him. “What did you need to talk with me about?”

He swallowed. This really shouldn’t be that difficult. “Rachel, about the…about us. I—”

She sat upright and turned her full attention on him. “Yes?” Was there a bit of concern in her eyes? It was hard to tell when the only illumination was the rhythmic flash as they sped under streetlight after streetlight on I-96.

“I—uh…our arrangement has suited me—both of us, I hope,” he glanced at her. “But I think it’s time we—er—reevaluated things.”

She stared at him for a moment, and he didn’t have to look at her to feel the assessment in her gaze. Then, to his shock, she smiled and gave a little laugh. “So you’ve found someone, have you, Gid?” Her short chuckle was laced with a bit of hardness, and he tensed, closing his fingers tighter around the soft leather steering wheel.

“Well, yes. At least, someone I’d like to…pursue…without feeling like I have other obli—uh, string—interests.” Even as he said the words, corrected himself, he knew he’d blown it.

A woman didn’t want to think of herself as an obligation, or a string, to any man. He clenched his teeth, waiting for the explosion. It wouldn’t be tears with Rachel—no, she wasn’t that type. It would be anger or—he shivered at the thought—calm, cool, female manipulation that he had absolutely no idea how to combat.

“I’m guessing that redhead at the fundraiser, right? Fiona Murphy. She just opened a little antiques shop in Wicks Hollow. Wasn’t there something about a skeleton?”

Gideon swallowed back bile in his throat. This was going to be worse than he expected. “What makes you think that?” he asked casually.

She laughed again, and this time it sounded more natural. “It was pretty obvious, darling Gideon. You were practically drooling all over her right in front of everyone.” —He thought he detected a little bite at the end of her words.

“Drooling?” He tamped back his irritation, knowing that he needed to keep his cool if he were to make it out of this scene with his dignity. Still, he didn’t like to think he’d made a spectacle of himself in front of his colleagues.

Her laugh was beginning to grate on his tightly-strung nerves. “I think it’s wonderful, Gideon. She—even though she did look at me with a bit of a catty eye—seemed very…engaging. But I suppose I would have done the same thing in her shoes. Give me the catty eye, I mean.”

There was a long silence as Gideon tried to figure out what that meant. Was she not angry? Did she not get that he was trying to end things? Or was she refusing to acknowledge what he thought he was making very clear?

Or was this the manipulation he’d expected, and had no way to identify?

“So…are you trying to tell me that our arrangement is…defunct?” she asked lightly.

“Yes.” Tension seeped from his shoulders to his neck and the back of his head.

“All right.” She sighed, frowning slightly. “I knew we couldn’t go on this way forever, but I guess I thought it would end…differently.”

“Oh.” Running a hand through his hair, Gideon knew he couldn’t just leave it as it was. They’d been together—well, sort of together—for three years, and he did care for her. “Rachel, I hope you…I hope you’re all right with this.” They’d exited from the highway and stopped at a light at the end of the ramp, so he turned to look at her.

She nodded. “I am—I’m happy for you. I hope this is something…good for you.” She wiped her eye with a forefinger, and Gideon felt his heart sink.

The blare of a horn behind them jerked his attention to the front, and he saw the green light. He jabbed the accelerator and they leapt forward. “Dammit, Rachel, I’m sorry. I—”

“No, Gideon, it’s not you. Honest. I’m sorry—I’m just…emotional.”

“What’s going on?”

She rested her head back against the headrest and spoke through a definitely weepy voice. “I’m just under a lot of stress from the press related to the award and all the new business coming from it—don’t get me wrong, it’s great, but it’s just, well…to tell the truth…I always thought it was going to be me who found someone and wanted to end it.” And with that, she burst into tears.

* * *

Fiona forced her eyes open to darkness broken only by irregular shafts of light. Her head screamed with throbbing pain, just above her left temple, and the rest of her body was one big ache. And she couldn’t move.

She was tied, trussed like a turkey, arms behind her back, ankles lashed together, and on her side…somewhere.

Something disgusting filled her mouth—a cloth—sopping up every bit of lubrication she might have had or mustered, and she couldn’t spit it out even if her tongue could have worked, for something like tape was stuck from jawbone to jawbone.

She closed her eyes, nausea flooding her, and prayed desperately that she wouldn’t have to vomit. Deep breaths, she told herself, repeating the mantra over and over, and tried to pull in soothing gulps of air, sprinkled with dust, through her nose. She didn’t allow herself to think of anything else until the danger of puking was past.

When her stomach finally settled, it was some time later. In fact, she may have weaved in and out of consciousness a few more times. The ache in her head had lessened, but the pain was now centered in her shoulders and wrists from her arms being pulled back. Fiona blinked several times while her eyes focused in the darkness. The same slashes of light fell awkwardly across the floor and over the wall, and that was when she recognized where she was.

Chills crept up her spine when she realized she was in the very spot where the skeleton had been found, and only the fact that there was a faint light reflecting into the small alcove under the stairs told her that she hadn’t been boarded up in the darkness herself.

Gulping back terror, her throat scratchy and dry, Fiona cleared a path through her addled mind and tried to calm down. She was alive, basically unhurt, and in her shop. Since there was filtering light, she knew she wasn’t enclosed in the closet. Whoever had done this must be gone, for there wasn’t enough illumination, or any sound, to indicate that someone might be there.

Using her elbows, she shifted and squirmed, rolling over to her other side. Now she could see out into the shop from under the stairs, and could see that all was still. She had no idea what time it was, but if the deep darkness that hung around the edges of the shop was any indication, it was the dead of night. The lamps she had come in to turn on were off, and only one light cast a pool of warmth into the shop…and it was, of course, The Lamp.

Fiona closed her eyes as terror welled inside her—cold chills sending wracking tremors through her body. She knew without a doubt that whoever had left her here had done so in the dark.

She knew that with the same certainty that she knew the lamp was not plugged into the wall, even though it was illuminated.

Yet, nothing happened—nothing was going on. There were no breezes, no clinking of chandeliers, no flickering lights, no scent of roses…all was still. Almost peaceful.

And, she told herself, grasping at one logical aspect: it was no ghost who’d bashed her on the head and tied her up. That had been the work of something very human. Her shivering eased and she forced herself to breathe more slowly.

At the worst case, she would lie here on this cold, musty floor—at least it wasn’t dirty, thanks to the meticulousness of the forensic detectives and her cleaning up after them—until tomorrow morning, when Carl showed up for work…or, perhaps, that was the best case. After all, she had no idea whether her attacker would come back…or whether the ghost would have something to say about the situation.

Fiona shook her head hard, scraping it against the hardwood floor. She would not think that way. She would not. She would think about other things…nice things.

Clenching her hands, wriggling her fingers to keep the numbness at bay, she focused her thoughts on Gideon, and for a long moment, as she basked in the memories, warmth seeped through her. And then she remembered his phone call tonight, and, with a lurching stomach, realized that right now—at this very moment, whatever time it was—he could be with Rachel.

That path was not an attractive one for her mind to take, and she firmly steered it away.

She was just about to try and roll herself out of the closet in hopes of making her way to the phone when she heard a rattling at the front door. Tensing, fear shooting through her, Fiona followed her first instinct: to roll as quickly as she could back into the depths of the closet.

The door rattled again, then there was the telltale tinkling sound of the bells as it swung open. Her heart in her throat, Fiona inched her way into the farthest corner she could, out of the wavering light.

“Fiona?”

The sound of her name in a voice she recognized was enough to allow the tears to burst forth.

“Fiona, are you in here?”

She rolled again, this time toward the shop, out from under the stairs, as Ethan walked back into the shop, turning on lamps as he went. “Fiona!” He came to a screeching halt when he nearly stepped on her. “My God, what happened to you?”

In a flash, he was kneeling beside her, tearing the tape none-too-gently from her face and helping her to sit up. She couldn’t help the tears that gushed from her eyes, and her running nose, and she buried her face in his coat.

My brother. My big brother.

“Oh, my God, Fi—Let me get something to cut you loose with, Fifi—I’ll be right back.” Ethan hurried away, his dark coat fluttering behind him. He was back almost immediately with a packing knife, and made short work of the ropes.

Fiona could not stifle a groan as her arms were freed and fell forward back to her sides. Her wrists and shoulders screamed with pain, and her skin was chafed from the rough bonds. Her head still pounded, pain resonating through her forehead, and she reached up gingerly to touch the tender spot at her temple. When she tried to talk, to thank Ethan, nothing would come from her desert-dry mouth except a little mew.

He dashed away and was back with a cup of water, which she drank thirstily. “I’m going to call Longbow,” he said, fishing out his cell phone as she gulped the water.

Fiona nodded, and, setting the cup aside, began to rub her ankles with numb fingers. “What are you doing here?” she croaked as he hung up the phone. “You’re supposed to be in Chicago.”

“You found a skeleton in your shop,” he said as if that explained everything. “And you didn’t call me. I had to hear about it on the news—anyway, I tried to call you on my way back from Chicago, and you never answered your cell phone—so I drove by here on the way to the cabin to see if you were still working. I saw your car out front, but realized that none of the lights were on in here, and I thought that was funny because I knew you always left something on since that break-in—so I thought I should check. When I opened the door—which was unlocked—I nearly tripped over that big-ass bag of yours, and I nearly had a heart attack. By then, I knew something was definitely wrong.”

She nodded wearily. “Thank God you came by, or I’d have been stuck here all night.” Her voice was a little better now. “What time is it?”

“Almost midnight.”

Officer van Hest had arrived, and her smooth competence and neat professionalism were a balm to Fiona’s nerves. She described her experience, acknowledging the fact that she was lucky to be relatively unhurt.

“But I’ll take her over to the urgent care center to have her looked at,” Ethan said, giving her a quelling look. “And she’s not coming to work tomorrow.”

Fiona didn’t protest, for she was no martyr—and her head still made the room spin when she tried to stand. In fact, she was more than glad to rest herself against her brother’s solid, comforting body, his arm around her waist, as he helped her to his car.

“Ms. Murphy.” Helga hurried out after them, just as Ethan was ready to slam the door shut. “Have you seen this before?”

She handed Fiona a white sheet of paper—it was the back of one of her invoices—and on it, someone had scrawled three ugly words: You’ll be next.