Anthology - Beyond the Dark PDF
Preview Anthology - Beyond the Dark
BEYOND THE DARK By Linda Winstead Jones Evelyn Vaughn Karen Whiddon Contents Linda Winstead Jones - Forever Mine Evelyn Vaughn - Haunt Me Karen Whiddon - Soul of the Wolf SILHOUETTE BOOKS ISBN 0-373-28531-0 BEYOND THE DARK BEYOND THE DARK Copyright © 2005 by Harlequin Books S.A. The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as fol ows: FOREVER MINE Copyright © 2005 by Linda Winstead Jones HAUNT ME Copyright © 2005 by Yvonne Jocks SOUL OF THE WOLF Copyright © 2005 by Karen Whiddon Al characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and al incidents are pure invention. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A. ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries. Visit Silhouette Books at www.eHarlequin.com Printed in U.S.A. Dear Reader, Reincarnation is a popular theme in paranormal romance, and rightful y so. The concept of coming into each life destined to find the right person again and again, moving through the ages with that destined love guiding us, is definitely romantic. But what happens if the wrong person comes back for us again and again? What if it's possible to stalk someone through one life after another? Even death wouldn't bring an end to the obsession. This is the idea that led me to "Forever Mine," which gives a different twist to those romantic words. Forever can be a very long time. I hope you enjoy reading about Miranda Garner and John Stark, and their struggle with Miranda's otherworldly stalker. Linda Winstead Jones Linda Winstead Jones FOREVER MINE Linda Winstead Jones CHAPTER ONE Everything about this lovely old house was familiar. The odors that had seeped into the wal s and the furnishings over the years, the way the steps creaked when she climbed them, the angle of the sunlight that streamed through the second- story window on this bril iant and beautiful autumn day. It was good to be home. Too bad Tony had come home with her. Miranda Garner stood at her bedroom window and looked down on the driveway below, where she'd parked her car earlier that day. There were stil a few boxes in the trunk, things she could do without for a day or two. She was so tired, she just couldn't face unloading everything this afternoon. There had been a time when she'd had boundless energy. She'd worked at the library, volunteered afternoons at the retirement home and painted mediocre but relaxing landscapes on the weekends. There had been dinners with friends, here and at their homes, and she'd taken a few computer classes at the community col ege. Even after the trouble had begun, she'd managed to keep herself busy. But lately, Tony hadn't been letting her sleep. He woke her in the middle of the night, time and again, and when she did manage to sleep he disturbed her dreams. That was the worst, when he seemed so real and solid and alive. After one of those dreams she always woke in a sweat, her heart pounding and her mouth tasting of copper, and there was no more sleep after that. Through the open doorway she heard a step creak, much as it had when she'd climbed the stairs to bring her luggage to this bedroom, after being gone from Cedar Springs for six months. She didn't bother to turn or cal out. She knew who was climbing those stairs. "Go away," she whispered without turning to the open doorway. Another stair squealed. "Go away!" Miranda shouted, her voice angrier and more desperate than it had been the first time. A few more steps creaked, and then she heard the shuffle of a shoe on the hal A few more steps creaked, and then she heard the shuffle of a shoe on the hal way floor at the top of the steps. A half second later there was another softly rasping step, just outside her door. And then he was behind her. She felt his sigh on the back of her neck, even though he had no breath. She felt his gentle touch on the smal of her back, even though he had no fingers. She began to shake, from the bones outward. "Go away, go away, go away!" She spun to face Tony, but of course he disappeared. But not before she'd glimpsed the curve of his cheek and the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. These days Tony was with her wherever she went. Miranda had left her family home in Cedar Springs, hoping that he wouldn't be able to fol ow. He had, of course. She'd moved several times in the past six months, hoping to escape him, but wherever she went he was there. Tony claimed to love her, but if he truly loved her, wouldn't he listen to her and do as she asked? Wouldn't he leave her in peace if he had ever cared for her? The police were no help at al , not anymore. In fact, their sympathy had long ago turned to suspicion and then contempt. They thought she was a nutcase, and heaven help her, maybe she was. Tony was a ghost. Just over a year ago, she'd kil ed him. John Stark stepped into the outer office and did a quick double take. "What the hel is that?" His secretary Claudia—invaluable personal assistant, as she insisted on being cal ed on her bad days—grinned at him. "Some psychic you are. Those are flowers. Maybe if you got out more often you'd recognize them." John glared. "They're from Mr. and Mrs. Thornton. Aren't they lovely?" The bouquet was gaudy, and the blooms stunk of, wel , flowers. He looked at the The bouquet was gaudy, and the blooms stunk of, wel , flowers. He looked at the blooms, the scent assaulting him, and he automatical y thought of death. "Get rid of them." Claudia's cheerful smile disappeared, and she narrowed her eyes in that disapproving way she had. "We don't see a lot of happy endings here, Stark. The least you can do is enjoy this one. You told the cops where to find the kid, they actual y listened to you for a change, and the boy is fine." "It was just another job." He refused to celebrate happy endings because that meant he'd have to give equal weight to the not-so-happy cases. They far outweighed the happy, and giving them too much power would kil him, if he al owed it. "Toss the flowers out or take them home with you. If they're here in the morning I'l throw them out the window myself." That was probably a crime of some sort in Atlanta, but he didn't care. He would not have his office looking and smel ing like a funeral parlor. Claudia produced an almost comical y sour face. "I guess I can take them home with me." She decided she liked that idea, and her expression changed subtly. "Jeffrey wil think I have a secret admirer." She waggled her eyebrows at the mention of her new husband. "You want to make him jealous?" "It won't hurt to keep him on his toes, so to speak," she said. "Don't worry. I won't make him suffer for very long." Women. John propped himself on the edge of Claudia's desk. "What have we got?" She lifted a short stack of pink sheets and began to shuffle through them. "Yesterday was a slow day and there hasn't been much this morning. Another phone cal from that girl at the television station—" "No TV," he interrupted. His caseload was heavy enough, almost strictly through word of mouth. The last thing he needed or wanted was more exposure. "Don't shoot the messenger," Claudia said. "I said I'd pass on the request and I did. There were also cal s from a relatively desperate homicide detective in did. There were also cal s from a relatively desperate homicide detective in Tampa with a possible serial kil er, a man in Nashvil e who thinks his wife is cheating on him, a woman in Charlotte who thinks her husband is gay, a lady from Cleveland who saw your picture on the Internet and thinks she's your soul mate—" "The Internet?" John snapped. That was potential y worse than a local y aired television interview. Claudia nodded. "Yep. There was one other cal , from a woman who lives in Cedar Springs, Mississippi." "Never heard of it." "She also mentioned finding an article about you on the Internet, but she didn't seem at al interested in romance. She's apparently being stalked by a ghost." John offered his hand, and Claudia placed the smal stack of papers on his palm. Touch almost always triggered some sort of response, though he never knew exactly what he would see. "I hope you told the man in Nashvil e and the woman in Charlotte to hire a conventional private investigator. I don't take cases pertaining to personal relationships, ever. You know that." "Yeah, but face it, it's what everyone wants. You could make a fortune just pairing people up. Steering them in the right direction. Tel ing them where to find Mr. or Mrs. Right." She waggled her eyebrows. "John Stark, The Love Prophet." "Do you like your job?" he asked with a straight face. Claudia leaned back in her chair. "Some days you are no fun at al ." He leafed through the phone messages Claudia had taken in the past two days. Some days the phone rang off the hook, and he was bombarded with requests for help. Other days were blessedly slow. The detective in Tampa didn't need John's help; he'd have the murderer in custody by the end of the day. The poor guy in Nashvil e was right; his wife was having an affair. Her third. The woman in Charlotte was right, too, and he sure as hel didn't want to be the one to tel her. The soul mate in Cleveland was quickly approaching seventy, and John shared the honor of her obsession with Sean Connery, Johnny Depp and the Secretary of State. She wasn't dangerous, and her obsessions changed with amazing regularity. The entire "soul mate" thing real y grated on John's nerves. It was what everyone wanted. The perfect mate; a love connection on the grandest order; a destined romance that would never know pain or betrayal or heartbreak. Hogwash. When he touched the note with the name and address of the woman in Mississippi, it grew warm beneath his fingers. Ghosts weren't dangerous. They rattled around, they occasional y moved objects, they made startling appearances that were frightening but not deadly. They certainly did not stalk the living. Sometimes simply tel ing them to move on was quite enough. But something was very wrong here. Miranda Garner was in danger; her ghost wanted her dead. "This one," he said, tossing the discarded potential clients' names and numbers onto Claudia's desk and rubbing his fingers over the name and address his secretary had jotted down in her horrid excuse for handwriting. "I'l cal Ms. Garner—" "No," John said sharply. "It's best that she doesn't know I'm coming." He didn't understand why, but he knew his arrival should not be announced. Interested, Claudia leaned forward. "I'l book your flight and reserve a car." John shook his head. While he gripped the paper, images he couldn't decipher flitted through his mind, moving so quickly and sharply he didn't have time to understand them. Most vivid was the image of a woman with long, dark hair that fel soft and intimate across his chest and his cheek, but there was also a throaty whisper; a glint of silver; the stench of cut flowers… He lost the images quickly and completely. "No," he said as he pushed away from the desk. "I'l drive." He could get from Atlanta to anywhere in Mississippi in less time than it would take to book a flight, deal with the airport hassle, get to his destination and rent a car. "Just get me a map." "When are you leaving?" Claudia asked.
The list of books you might like
