Courting Danger. Carol Stephenson

Who else?”

      “No one—” I broke off as a horrible idea took hold. Oh brother, opening that can of worms would make my life miserable.

      “What is it, Katherine?”

      “Nothing.” I shook my head. “Bad idea.”

      Gabe turned around and folded his arms. “Can’t be that bad, Katherine, if it caused that panicky expression.”

      What, did he have eyeballs in the back of his head? I sulked.

      “Grace’s job was to collect memorabilia from the days the courthouse was in use. Art, books, furniture, photographs.”

      “We’ll call this pool of suspects ‘donors.’” Nicole added another line on the board.

      Oh goody. My aunt and all her friends would be simply thrilled to be questioned in connection with a murder case. It would be the talk of the town for weeks.

      I rubbed my temples where the telltale throbbing of a tension headache was starting. “So where do we start?”

      “The murder scene.” Gabe jerked his head toward the door. “Come on, beautiful. Let’s get going.”

      “Where?”

      “The courthouse. I’ll make a call on the way to clear our admittance.”

      “Now?” All I wanted to do was crawl home, straight into a hot shower.

      “Our client’s first appearance is in the morning, isn’t it?”

      “Yes.”

      “The murder occurred at night, didn’t it?”

      “Yes.” I frowned. “Who’s the attorney here?”

      With studied nonchalance he shrugged. “I’m attending law school at night.”

      Uh-oh.

      “Look, there’s no time like the present. I need to see how the scene looks like at night. Besides, with all the construction people, the integrity of the crime scene is going to be shot to hell if it isn’t already.”

      He extended his hand. “Go home, change, and I’ll pick you up in thirty.”

      I forced my aching body to leave the chair’s comfort without his assistance. “Make it an hour and you have a deal.”

      “Thirty.”

      “Forty-five.”

      “Thirty.”

      I sighed. “Okay, thirty, but don’t be on time.”

      “Seven sharp and I’ll pick up burgers along the way.”

      True to his word, Gabe arrived promptly at seven, charmed my cat Willy, handed me a hamburger and pulled me toward his battered black Dodge truck before I could catch a breath. I had raced home, jumped into the shower and pulled on the first available outfit.

      I wore jeans, whose crisp crease had earned a withering glance from Gabe, a black cashmere V-neck sweater, and no makeup. I was tired, my feet hurt like hell, and my temper simmered due to the irritating man beside me, but I was having the time of my life.

      What I was doing was so totally removed from the glittering balls of Palm Beach society that I could’ve hugged myself for joy. Oh heck, why not? I wrapped my arms around myself.

      “Are you cold?” Gabe asked as he pulled his rattling monster of a truck into a spot in the parking garage.

      “No.”

      He leaned across me, and I got another tantalizing whiff of him as he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a large flashlight. Oh dear. Gabe was one of those MacGyver types—prepared for any emergency.

      Within a few minutes we stood before the old courthouse. My breath caught. At night with the glow of lights, it shimmered. The first stage of the restoration had consisted of removing the 1970s brick facade that had wrapped around the original 1916 structure. Now the neoclassic building with its graceful pillars stood out among all the other governmental buildings.

      Such pretty trappings for so much heartache. It’s just a building, I reminded myself. It simply served as the site of tragedy.

      At the entrance Gabe exchanged a few words with the security guard and then we were inside, crossing the hall to the stairway.

      My shoes echoed on the marble steps in the old courthouse. Had my grandfather placed his foot in this slight depression? Had he held this banister? Had he and Grandmother walked through those doors and simply slipped away into the night? Had they been dragged out kicking and screaming?

      We reached the top floor and took the passage to our left. Gabe switched on the flashlight and its high-powered beam sliced down the long dim corridor.

      I smiled. “I was right.”

      “About?”

      “You’re like MacGyver.”

      “Loved that show as a kid.” He patted his back pocket.

      “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Your pocketknife?”

      “You bet. As a top-notch investigator, I like to be prepared.”

      Ahead of us, the shadows stirred as if a darker one moved in their midst. For a moment I wondered if we had disturbed one of the building’s alleged ghosts. Then I narrowed my eyes.

      “I thought the guard said we were the only ones up here.”

      “Yes—” Gabe broke off as he swung the flashlight. The shadow moved as the person took off in the opposite direction.

      “Hey, come back here!” I yelled and broke into a run. Someone was up to no good.

      “What the hell? Kate!”

      The beam of light bounced as Gabe started after me. I called over my shoulder. “He must have been after the artifacts housed up here.”

      The light steadied and I saw the dark shadow turn and lift its arm. Metal glinted.

      A Mack truck in the form of Gabe rammed into my ribs as a loud crack reverberated.

      “Umph!” The force threw me forward yet twisted me at the same time. I landed not on the floor but on something only a bit softer.

      Before I could draw in a breath, Gabe rolled me underneath his hard body, drew his gun, braced his arms and fired off one shot.

      The ringing spread from my ears to my temples as if I was in the London Tower at noon. I could see that Gabe had pulled out his phone and was talking, but all I could hear was a buzz interfacing with the ringing.

      He rose, tugging me up along with him. “Come on. Hurry. The police are on their way, and I want to get a look at what he was doing before they get here.”

      He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out latex gloves. “Here, put these on.”

      I snapped on the icky plastic. As we approached the vicinity where the intruder had been, I saw the strips of yellow tape strewn on the ground in front of one room.

      “Ah, so someone else was interested in the murder scene.”

      “Gabe.” I halted and gripped his arm.

      “What is it?”

      I swallowed, knowing that indeed the courthouse ghosts were alive and well tonight, for they had materialized to haunt me.

      But I had to circle around to the truth. I couldn’t immediately confront it.

      “That can’t be the room where Grace Roberts was killed.”

      “Duh.” Gabe pointed the flashlight at the door. “Tape with the words crime scene on it. Surely you left the ivory tower at the federal level on occasion to know what the tape looks like.”

      So