Unquiet Spirits Read online

  "Finally, twenty years after Laila left, Elsa wore him down and they got engaged." She shrugged. "I always thought the steady job performing at the lodge had something to do with his proposal. The place was packed on weekends."

  "And then he disappeared," Kit said. "Did you ever wonder if something happened to him?"

  "Oh, Raoul's dead," Ruby said flatly. "No question. He would have called. At least he would have made arrangements about Pitou. Most people think he got into some kind of trouble in the city. But I often wonder if he ever got there." She took a big breath. "He didn't say good-bye."

  "Did he have any enemies around here?" Kit asked.

  But Ruby couldn't or wouldn't name anyone. The woman scorned was always an obvious suspect. Or could Ruby be protecting someone else?

  Bart's mind simply wouldn't stay focused today. Laila's disturbing words kept interrupting his thoughts. Ever since they'd left the lake, the phrase "soul mates" had been ricocheting like a bullet around in his head. Each time the bullet glanced off his brain, another frightening word flashed through his mind. A word like never-ending. Then there was fidelity and commitment. And giving up all frigging control of your life.

  Laila's otherworldly certainty terrified him. Soul mates loved without reservations and forever. He wasn't capable of love and he didn't want any part of it--at least, he never had.

  But he couldn't leave the idea alone. The sex would be the ultimate experience, wouldn't it? A true union of mind and body. All his efforts to avoid thinking about making love with Kit were useless. The longer he spent within arm's reach of her, the harder it was to keep his hands off her perfect little body.

  He glanced over at her. She was frowning slightly; her eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead, her delectable full lips pursed in thought. The hot afternoon sun beaming in through her side window spotlighted her breasts. Her nipples were hard and thrusting at her pale green T-shirt. Could Kit be wondering about the same thing? She had a real hang-up about being part of his family. Give him one long wonderful night of lovemaking and he knew he could change that.

  He'd promised her they wouldn't make love until she was ready.

  But why not speed up the process?

  Kit responded best to logic. Yes. Argue that, sure she had close ties with his family, but they weren't related. Even during Will's brief marriage to Laila, he and Bret had never thought of Laila as a mother figure. She had discouraged it.

  Another argument was that he would be by her side day and night for protection. And, a big point, they had the same views on the future. He couldn't ever see himself as a husband and father. Kit wasn't looking for one. Her late husband had cured her of looking for happily-ever-afters.

  Their lovemaking was going to be so good. Their kisses generated a heat that almost incinerated both of them. Kit never denied she wanted him. He shifted in his seat.

  To hell with wasting time with logical argument. Wherever this relationship was headed, they were going to make love. And soon.

  He needed a clear mind to let him concentrate on keeping her alive. He and Kit would have to sort out their feelings eventually but not necessarily before they explored the fire that crackled every time they were in the same room.

  And he was going to make sure they were in the same room... day and night.

  Chapter Eight

  After dropping Bart off at the cabin to meet with the security device installers, Kit waited for Johanna and Betsy in the round bar booth closest to the archway to the lobby. She paid little attention to the pages of figures and sketches in front of her while Johanna fielded yet another telephone call at the desk and Betsy checked some correspondence on her office computer.

  Kit breathed a large sigh of relief. Finally, she had a moment alone. She hoped Bart's meeting would keep him away long enough for her to catch her breath. Lord! That man exuded enough potency and energy to power the whole resort.

  Why was she pretending she could resist him? For as long as she could remember she'd wanted to spend every minute she could with Bart. And now, after years of deep affection, she was madly, uncontrollably, in lust with him. She'd tried to reason her way out of these new feelings, but it was no use. She wanted his hard muscled body in her bed. She knew him well enough to predict the laughter and joy he would bring to their lovemaking. Why not enjoy it?

  Bart didn't have a hang-up about being surrogate family. She was the one who had desperately wished for years that he was her brother. Well, he wasn't! He was her best friend. And he was going to be her lover.

  She was going to do it. Her pulse began to pound in anticipation. Maybe tonight!

  She just had to be careful not to allow Laila's insistence they were soul mates to confuse her. Lust, that's all it was. Good healthy lust. She and Bart could have no future. Bart would never tie himself down to one woman and she had learned a lesson from her disastrous marriage.

  But if they were lovers, they could make the present wonderful. And who knew how long they could make the present last?

  She couldn't think in terms of months or years. Always in the back of her mind was the ominous shadow of the person who had already twice tried to kill her. She shuddered and glanced uneasily around the empty bar.

  As if on cue, a loud shot snapped the silence. Kit threw herself down flat on the bench.

  Oh, God! The shooter had found her!

  Another shot, then three in rapid succession. Then three more.

  Those weren't gunshots! She knew those rhythmic explosions of sound. Cautiously raising her head above the level of the tabletop, she looked at the empty stage. No dancer was visible but unseen hard heels and toes made the unmistakable tempo of an Irish jig echo through the room.

  DAH... DAH... dah, dah, dah, dah, dah, dah... dah, dah, dah... DAH, dah.

  She got to her feet but could not take a step. A cold invisible force held her feet in place. The same electricity she had felt in the canoe crackled all over the surface of her body. She waited.

  There was no need to search the room for a hidden tape player. This was no sham. Raoul was making his presence felt. Loud as gunfire, the clicking of his hard shoes sounded the rhythm of his favorite dance. She could almost hear the rich laughter that used to be in his voice as he sang along with the jig, "Did you ever go into an Irishman's shanty..."

  Her nerves tingled in response to the peculiar electrical tremor in the air. A slow shiver crawled over her skin. A deep primitive instinct urged her to run and hide. A twinge of curiosity suggested she stay. She wasn't afraid Raoul's spirit would harm her but, if she could only make her frozen legs work, she'd run.

  The staccato sounds of step dancing stopped abruptly. The icy tingling of her skin stopped. The chill restraints on her legs left just as suddenly. She could move if she wanted to but some strange quality in the sudden silence compelled her to stay. There was a reason she needed to be here.

  "Where's the music, Raoul?" she said, trying to play it cool. Half of her mind said she had lost all her marbles. The other half was eager to know why Raoul was contacting her.

  The dancing feet sounded a fanfare.

  "Ah, Minou, Minou." A warm baritone voice spoke from the stage. "So sleek and lovely. My pretty little kitten has become such a beautiful adult female. Come closer."

  As she approached, Raoul slowly took shape. He wore his signature performing clothes--black boots, black denim pants and turtleneck with a red vest and beret. His dark eyes dominated a handsome face that was the same lustrous pearly gray color as Laila's.

  The brilliant smile he flashed at her warmed his black eyes. But the sharp image of the whole man lasted only a moment. The instant Raoul materialized completely, he began to disappear again.

  "I can't stay, Minou," he said. "I couldn't resist the urge to show off." The only visible parts of him now were his head and shoulders. His lips stretched in a sheepish smile and his shoulders raised in a familiar shrug. " I spent too much energy doing your jig."

  "I'd like to have seen it," she
said, and was surprised to realize she meant it.

  "Be careful, Minou." His voice was losing power and he was fading quickly. "Don't trust... anyone."

  "What do you want from me, Raoul?" Kit asked quickly just before he disappeared entirely.

  "Bury... bones..." said his disembodied voice.

  And he was gone. She thought she heard him finish with a whispered, "Laila."

  Nothing was left of him, no lingering scent, no echoing sound. It was hard to believe she hadn't imagined the whole encounter.

  As if in answer to her thoughts, the ghostly feet tapped out a short staccato "Shave and a haircut, two bits!"

  She smiled, remembering Raoul's irrepressible sense of humor. The smile vanished quickly, though, when she remembered the grisly task his ghost asked of her. And the repeated warning.

  Who was her enemy who stayed in the calm eye of the storm sending death and destruction to her even at a great distance? Laila's imagery had been poetic but the message was someone at Spirit Lake has hired a killer to eliminate her.

  Kit was still standing in the middle of the little dance floor, staring at the empty stage hugging herself, when Johanna returned.

  "Well, that's settled," Johanna announced. "That man..." She looked at Kit and stopped dead in her tracks. Her worried gaze snapped to the stage.

  "Oh my goodness," she said, putting her arm around Kit's shoulders. "Raoul's been here. What did he do this time?"

  "He danced."

  "No pranks then." Johanna seemed relieved. "I've heard him more than once in here. I'll never forget how frightened I was the first time."

  She bent her head to peer into Kit's eyes. "He really is harmless, you know," she assured her.

  "Raoul wasn't in the mood for pranks. He only appeared long enough to warn me I was in danger."

  "You saw him?" Johanna's surprise was almost comical. "But no one else has...His warning must be serious. Who did he say it was?"

  Kit had to laugh. Then she couldn't stop. "Can't tell me who," she choked out between gasps of near hysterical laughter. "It's against the rules."

  Then the tears began to flow.

  The moment he entered the lobby, Bart heard her voice. Kit was in trouble. He yanked the Beretta free of its holster as he ran into the bar. She was standing in the middle of the tiny dance floor with her arms wrapped around her middle, gently sobbing, while Johanna patted her shoulder.

  He surveyed the room quickly, then clicked the safety back on his weapon and returned it to the holster on his belt.

  "What happened here?" he snapped, taking Kit in his arms.

  "She saw the ghost," Johanna told him.

  "It was Raoul," Kit said, struggling impatiently out of his embrace. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I feel so stupid. There's nothing to cry about. He warned me I was in danger. But we already knew that, didn't we?"

  She moved unsteadily toward the paper-strewn table. "I can look at that information you've gathered now, Johanna."

  "Not today!" Bart said firmly. Kit was not in any shape to deal with business right now.

  Both women turned to look at him, surprised at his tone of voice. It was time they both learned there was a limit to his easygoing acceptance of their plans.

  "Kit's had enough. I'm taking her back to the cabin for a rest."

  "Bart, the lodge is reopening in three weeks. We have to make arrangements to get the sawmill demolished and carted away before guests start arriving. They expect a peaceful quiet holiday. Besides, the security men are still there." He could tell Kit's heart wasn't in her protest.

  "They're gone. Mike had briefed them and got them started on the outdoor stuff earlier. All I had to do was check their work. Come on, Kit. Two ghost encounters in a day is a good excuse to play hooky."

  Kit straightened her shoulders and raised her stubborn little chin. He did love her spunk! Then she met his eyes and he could see common sense getting the better of her pride.

  "Is Betsy coming in tomorrow?" Kit asked.

  "As a matter of fact she just told me Joel is playing the second round of a local tournament tomorrow and she'd be coming in for a while tomorrow afternoon."

  "Perhaps it would be better to go over all this then if Betsy will be here." The small catch in her voice betrayed the frayed state of her nerves. "What do you think, Johanna?"

  Johanna met Bart's eyes. Her steady gaze held understanding and what looked like grudging approval.

  "Tomorrow it is," she agreed.

  On the way back to the cabin he pointed out the men setting up surveillance cameras in the trees. "They won't be hooked up to Mike's command central in Johanna's suite until sometime tomorrow but at least they'll be in place. Until then, we have these." He pulled a little black FRS out of his pocket.

  "What's that?"

  "Like a walkie-talkie, but with a much bigger range. Mike and I have them. So do the guys who are doing the patrols. I have one for you too. Now tell me about the ghost."

  Kit reported her short conversation with Raoul's ghost.

  "That goes along with what we heard from Laila," Bart said. "But why the hell are they appearing to us if they can't give us any valuable information?"

  Kit's weak grin showed how exhausted she was. "I don't think they're here to do anything for us. They want us to do something for them."

  "Find Raoul's bones," Bart said with a grimace.

  "And bury them beside Laila's."

  "That's not going to solve the question of who is behind the attacks."

  "I guess we're on our own for that," she said.

  After he showed her how the security on the windows and doors and the motion sensors worked, it didn't take much to convince Kit to take a hot relaxing bath, then have a nap while Bart called Bret to see what he'd learned from his people in Florida.

  Keeping his mind off a vision of Kit in the bath he had prepared for her wasn't as easy. The fragrance of the relaxing oils wafted through the cabin and made him think of having her, relaxed and warm in his bed. He could almost taste her damp, sweetly scented breasts, feel her silky skin under his palms...

  Enough. What he needed was a good long run but he couldn't leave Kit alone in the cabin until the alarm system was activated. He said he'd make some phone calls. Better do that.

  Bret didn't have much for him. He hadn't found a Toronto connection at Schofield's but he did have one piece of information. His contact with the Toronto police reported that two of the cabbies who witnessed the shooting at the hotel agreed on the first three digits of the van's license plate. That would help as corroboration only if they could get the license number of a suspect to check it against. But it was something.

  When Bart told him what he knew about the child Laila had given up for adoption, Bret breathed a sigh of relief. "A lead," he said. "Someone who might benefit from Kit's death."

  "All I have is the approximate year of birth and the name of Laila's aunt," Bart cautioned.

  "Rikka Anderson or Andersen. Right?"

  "Kit got some family papers today. Wait until we can go through them to start your search. I'll let you know the minute we find any more information. Johanna's good friend, Mike Martin, is an ex-Mountie and CSIS agent. I thought I'd see what he can turn up on Rikka with his Canadian connections."

  "Good idea. Are you getting a computer up there or do you plan on freeloading off me forever?"

  Bart laughed. "I am thinking about getting one. It's damned frustrating having to rely on other people. However, you're building up credits. Just tell me what you've got."

  Bret was almost finished background checks of everyone who had left Schofield's or the foundation in the last year for any reason. So far he'd found nothing interesting. Bart gave him Raoul's, Mike's, Joel's and Betsy's names to add to his list before ending the call.

  Bret was right. For one thing, he wanted to run a quick check on the dozen college students who were descending on them in less than a week to spruce up the cabins. While he had no idea who K
it's enemy was, he didn't want to download anything onto the lodge's equipment. He knew exactly the computer he needed to run some of those background checks himself. He just had to find out where to find it up here and how to get it almost immediately.

  A quick call set Mike on the task of locating Rikka Anderson. Mike would get approximate dates from Johanna and tap his buddies who were still in CSIS. As the search had no possible ties to international terrorism or questions of national security, he was sure they shouldn't have any problem.

  Mike also said he'd order the computer from a company in North Bay who would courier it to the lodge within twenty-four hours.

  He'd better get Jacob's file from Kit so that he could skim through it while she was resting. He opened her bedroom door. Too late. She was already in bed, fast asleep. She probably would want to be the first to examine her grandfather's private papers anyway.

  Frustrated at every turn and muttering curses under his breath, Bart snatched a mystery novel off the bookshelf and threw himself onto the couch with it. It didn't take him long to discover he didn't give a damn who had killed the unpleasant old man in the story. He was replacing the book on the shelf when there was a quick rap at the door.

  A glance through the peephole revealed Paavo's concerned face.

  "How's Kit?" he asked, without any preamble. "Johanna tells me she had an unsettling meeting with our hotel ghost."

  "Much better than she was when Johanna saw her. She's resting right now," Bart said as he accepted the picnic basket Paavo thrust in his hands. "What's this?"

  "Cold supper," Paavo said. "I'll put it in the fridge so you can eat it when you're ready. Just heat the rolls."

  Bart followed him into the kitchen and watched him put the contents of the basket in the refrigerator.

  Paavo gave a sheepish grin. "I feel like the lady of the manor."

  At Bart's puzzled look, he laughed and explained, "I was forced to read a really bad novel in school where the baron's wife went around carrying a basket of calf's foot jelly and dispensing it to ailing villagers. I wanted to do something to cheer Kit up but couldn't bring myself to make calf's foot jelly." He shuddered. "Fried chicken and potato salad seemed more cheerful to me."