Shiver / Private Sessions. Jo Leigh

The one that seemed just a bit too focused. It made Carrie turn away as she fought her very physical reaction. He cleared his throat, then said, “Well, have a good night, ladies. If there’s anything you need, just give me a call.”

      “Thank you.” Erin closed her menu and put it aside. “It’s safe,” she whispered a minute later. “He’s gone.”

      Carrie looked up. “So, no pumpkin soufflé. At least not tonight.”

      “The man is totally into you.”

      “Stop it.”

      “Come on, you want him so badly. You’re all blushing and touching your hair. I’m trying to think if I’ve ever seen you like this. I was there when you met Armand, and honey, you were not flirty and girlie. Not even a little.”

      “He’s not Armand.”

      “Thank god. But you’re not exactly you, either. But that’s okay. Because—”

      “What?”

      Erin signaled the waitress again.

      “Erin? What are you planning?”

      “Nothing.”

      “Liar.”

      Erin coughed behind her hand. “Could you have said that a little louder? I’m not planning anything. I don’t need to. You’re going to be with him, my stubborn friend. Without me lifting a finger.”

      Carrie ignored the prediction, ignored everything but the fact that Sam, the dutiful host, went straight to the kitchen without talking to any other guests. Before the door swung closed, he looked at her again. A long, piercing stare.

      SAFELY IN THE CONFINES of the bustling kitchen, Sam cursed to himself as he headed for the back door. He needed a moment of privacy.

      This Carrie business was more serious than he’d thought. He’d known it the moment he’d walked into the dining room and seen her back. Yeah. Her back. He’d have known her even if she hadn’t been sitting across from her friend Erin.

      He stepped out onto the lit patio. It was an employee lounge, mostly used in the warmer months, but even in the dead of winter people came out here to get away. Some to smoke, although there were few of those left. It was also the path to the trash bins and the storage shed. Well lit, it was difficult to make out much beyond the low fence. Sam went straight for the path that led to the edge of the forest. He had no desire to visit the woods this late, he just wanted to get away from the hotel, from the glare of the spotlights.

      The farther he walked, the more detail he could see in front of him. A tree, vague in shape and still more two-dimensional than three. He stopped and smiled when he could discern the forest from the tree.

      No wonder there were legends of this place. He’d grown up here and still it seemed otherworldly out here. Shadows upon shadows, the eye suspecting movement, attaching stories to the tricks of the night to ease the fear, as if the explanation alone would take away the danger.

      It would be easy to believe that a spirit would come back here. The woods, the mountains, all the secret places. Especially if they’d been loved. Been mourned.

      He turned his gaze to the hotel, the illumination from the windows as inviting as a warm bed, a hot meal. Carrie.

      He wanted her.

      He’d been on his own too long. But he had to be discreet. And make damn sure she was amenable. The last thing he needed was a sex scandal when the potential buyers were in residence.

      No, he had a strong feeling Carrie was interested. There was something about the way she looked at him.

      He shivered, hard. “Well, shit.” He felt like an idiot as he started back double time. He hadn’t even bothered to put on a jacket. This was what happened when a man who hadn’t been with a woman in ten months met someone like Carrie. He got poetic. He got cold. And if he had a brain in his head, he got laid.

       4

      THE BALLROOM WAS BIGGER than Carrie had imagined. And much more crowded. There had to be at least sixty people milling around, most of them in line for food or drinks. She recognized some of the people from the shuttle, including Elbow Guy, who looked as though he’d showered, and the lovely lady who’d spoken so musically. Most of the crowd would fit right in at Comic-Con, the biggest and most extravagant of the comic conventions she attended. Tonight T-shirts were the hot ticket, ninety percent of them with some kind of paranormal picture, quote, or both. Of course, the TV Ghost Hunters show was the most popular, although Halloween itself ran a close second.

      Despite Erin filling her in about the hobby, Carrie had no idea there was so much ghost paraphernalia. Not that she was one to talk. She wrote online comics. Graphic novels. She had her own online merchandise store, which did a brisk business. Kudos to the spirit world, although she doubted the ghosts were making any royalties.

      Two bars had been set up on either side of the long room, and she’d bought three tickets for herself at the registration table in the hall. Erin had purchased a couple, but she’d also brought a thermos to fill with coffee, her favorite tea bags, a recorder, a notebook, two different sweaters, a pair of sweatpants, a scarf, a blow-up pillow and three paranormal books to be autographed, all carried in a tote bag that was nearly as large as her suitcase.

      “Oh, man, the treats look utterly yummy.”

      Carrie turned at the rapture in Erin’s voice. The food tables lined the front wall by the entrance, and it looked more like a brunch spread from the Four Seasons than a Podunk Inn an hour from Denver. Not only was the fruit artfully arranged, but there was also an ice sculpture in the middle of the biggest table.

      As for the pastries, Sam hadn’t exaggerated. It was an astonishing array. Éclairs, petits fours, napoleons, petits pots au chocolat, tarts, cheesecakes, sponges. It was a veritable cornucopia of deliciousness, and Carrie could already feel the pounds expanding her hips. The closer she got to the table, the harder it was to care.

      Not that she could get too close. Those who weren’t standing in line for drinks were attacking the desserts like starving wolverines. No one was talking, and if someone didn’t back down, there would be bloodshed near the petits fours.

      “Think maybe I’ll get a drink,” Erin said.

      “Shouldn’t we mark our territory first?”

      They both turned to the rows of seats facing the stage. Carrie was impressed by the high-tech equipment on display. A movie-theater-sized screen, several big monitors and a sound board, which was weird. She nodded at the stage. “What’s with all the TVs?”

      “Only a few people at a time can go to the Old Hotel. Everyone else watches remotely from here.”

      “Watches what?”

      Erin got that look in her eye. “Apparitions, sometimes. Flashes of light. They’ll see whoever’s in the hotel, of course, and then there are all the monitors for sound, temperature fluctuations, electromagnetic shifts. It can be pretty compelling stuff, if you open your mind. I know there’s activity here. I’ve already felt … things.”

      “Hands on your ass, perhaps?”

      “Carrie. Stop it.”

      “Sorry. I promise. I’ll be good. So when do you get to go to the scary hotel?”

      “First shift. Midnight,” she said, right before she frowned. “Tomorrow.”

      “Well, I hope there are apparitions and specters and flashes and everything you’ve ever wanted, but not until you’re there to see it in person. Seriously.”

      “Don’t tell anyone, but me, too,” Erin said.

      Carrie wondered yet again how she’d gotten so lucky to find such a good friend. The thought was interrupted when she got a load of the chairs set out for those who didn’t get to freeze all night in