Heart of Gold

THREE

HE COULDN’T SLEEP. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how detached he claimed to be, he couldn’t blank the image from his mind. Every time he closed his eyes all he could see was Faith Kincaid, looking small and terrified, her face washed of color, her dark eyes staring up at him, wide and shining with tears of fear.

She had looked to him in that instant, and his first and strongest instinct had been to take her in his arms and hold her.

Shane swore softly, exhaling a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. What the hell was the matter with him?

Lurking not so far in the back of his mind was the fear that after sixteen years on the job, maybe it was time to move on to something else. But when he tried to see the future, it simply stretched before him, a barren gray plain. His dedication to duty had distanced him from everyone and everything he had ever cared about. Now he had nothing to move on to.

Without turning on the light he sat up and reached for the tumbler on the nightstand and took a swallow of velvet-smooth whiskey.

Banks had wanted him to take R and R after the Silvanus case. Correction, Shane thought with a wry smile, as he took another long drag on his cigarette, Banks had ordered him to take R and R after the Silvanus case. He probably should have listened. Instead, he’d picked one hell of a fight with his boss, and now he was stuck here. This was Banks’s way of punishing him. When Shane thought of the woman lying in bed just across the hall from him, and his blood surged hot in his veins, he had to say it was cruel and unusual punishment.

What a pretty little bundle of trouble Faith Kincaid was. In the first place he wanted to believe she was as guilty as her ex-husband where DataScam was concerned. That alone should have kept him from feeling this damnable attraction. Under the tarnish of cynicism he was still a patriot. And if she really was as innocent as those big brown eyes of hers claimed, she was a civilian under his protection. That meant hands off.

But, oh, how he’d wanted to touch her when she had hung up that phone and turned to him. He had felt every facet of her fear, had known she was looking to him for strength, for protection. The protection she had been so certain she didn’t need.

Shane told himself his job was keeping Faith safe and sound until the trial. He had men stationed at strategic points on the property, well hidden from view. Tomorrow Del Matthews would arrive to tap the phones. They would construct a safety net around Faith, hoping to catch whoever was after her rather than simply frighten them away.

He stubbed his cigarette out in the little porcelain dish that was intended for bedtime mints and rubbed the back of his neck. Everything was under control. Repeating that in his head, he lay back down on the rumpled sheets and tried to relax. Everything was under control.

Everything had been under control in the Silvanus case. All the players in the Silvanus operation were now either dead or under indictment. Except Strauss. It haunted Shane that the most lethal of Silvanus’s cohorts had escaped, but that case was over. Here and now, everything was under control.

Everything had been under control at Quantico ten years ago too. Still, Ellie was dead.

Cold swept over him in a sheen of damp sweat. Where had that memory come from? He had buried it along with Ellie. Why had it surfaced now?

The image of Faith Kincaid floated through his mind, but Shane stubbornly ignored the clue and hauled himself out of bed to pace naked back and forth across the width of the small room. With a strength of will few men possessed, he pushed the memories out of his mind. This wasn’t Quantico. Nobody was going to get to Faith Kincaid because it was his job to keep her safe. End of story.

As those words branded themselves in his mind, a sound penetrated his thoughts, snatching hold of his attention. It was faint, overhead on the second or third floor, but it was distinct. Ker-thump… ker-thump… ker-thump…

Hastily he pulled on a pair of pants, grabbed his gun, and slipped from the room.

She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t begin to relax, not even after her friends had forced a glass of brandy on her. The one instant she had finally begun to doze off she had been awakened by an itching sensation on her chest where the pendant of her necklace lay.

Great. Not only were there killers after her, she was developing an allergy as well, Faith thought, as she sat up and switched the bedside lamp on.

In the soft light she studied the delicate gold filigree heart as she often did. The intricate lacework of the piece had always enchanted her. When Bryan had given her the necklace as a graduation present, he had claimed there was magic in it. Of course, for her friend Bryan Hennessy there was magic in everything. Where was the magic now, Faith wondered, now that she and Lindy were in danger.

Trembling, she pulled the covers up even though she wasn’t cold. She had felt so safe here. All it had taken to shatter that sense of well-being was a phone call. That easily, evil had violated her home, her peace. The overwhelming sense of vulnerability that swept through her at the thought was frightening. And with the helplessness came anger. She had always taken care of her own problems. This was one she couldn’t begin to handle on her own.

Shane Callan, a presence she had wanted removed from her life earlier in the day, had suddenly become her savior. It made little sense. She hardly knew him, yet she had immediately turned to him. The whole episode had taken on a surrealistic quality in her memory. Had she really seen concern in his translucent gray eyes, or had she imagined it? Had she imagined the softer quality in his low voice as he had questioned her, or had that been genuine?

All she was really certain of was that her world had been turned upside down yet again. How could such an ordinary person find herself constantly thrown into extraordinary circumstances, she wondered. She was just a girl from the farm country of Ohio. What did she know of spies and assassins?

Needing to do something that was comforting in its normalcy, she tossed the covers aside, slipped out of bed, and padded barefoot across the rug to the door that connected her room to Lindy’s. She looked in on her daughter and frowned. Lindy was tossing and turning too, but at least she was asleep. Faith doubted she was going to get any rest at all.

She pulled a light blue robe on over her nightgown and quietly slipped out of her room, intending to go to the library to find something to read. Then she heard it. Ker-thump… ker-thump… ker-thump…

“Never misses a night,” she murmured, a faint smile turning her lips.

Instead of going to the library, she turned and crept up the grand staircase.

She barely glimpsed the dark figure that bolted out from behind the drapes flanking the Palladian window on the second-floor landing. Before she could scream, she found herself pressed back against the wall with a large hand clamped over her mouth, a gun pressed to her temple, and a hard male body pressed along the length of her. Terror surged through her, pebbling the texture of her skin and drawing her nipples into tight knots.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Shane uttered the words through clenched teeth. He slid his hand from her mouth to the wall beside her head. His eyes looked cold and silvery in the moonlight that fell through the arched window.

Faith pulled a shaking breath into her lungs. “This is my house,” she whispered. “I’m free to roam it at will, aren’t I?”

“That depends on why you’re roaming.”

She made a face. There was no way he was going to believe her if she told him the truth, so she settled on half of it. “I couldn’t sleep. What’s your excuse?”

“I don’t need one.”

Faith frowned at him. “You’re an absolute menace, sneaking around, manhandling people, holding that awful gun to their heads. You’re liable to end up killing somebody.”

Shane never took his eyes off her as he tucked his pistol into the back of his pants. Nor did he move, keeping her pinned against the wall with his own weight. She was soft against him, trembling. Her nipples seemed to burn him through the sheer silky fabric of her nightgown.

Anger swelled inside him, right along with desire. Dammit, she was trouble. He could keep only half his mind on the job. The other half was preoccupied savoring the feel of her against him, wondering what it would be like to have her warm and willing beneath him. He had to fight to keep from staring at her sweet, full mouth just inches below his.

“Who am I liable to kill up here?” he asked. “No one has a room in this part of the house… unless there’s someone else you neglected to mention to me. Is there, Faith?”

“No,” she murmured.

Why didn’t he back off and give her some room? Being wedged between the wall and his body was having a devastating effect on her mind. Her eyes kept drifting to the bare width of his shoulders and chest. A sculptor couldn’t have carved a more artistic representation of the male animal. His muscles flexed and rippled in the moonlight. A square pad of white gauze was taped to his left shoulder, but it didn’t detract from his masculine beauty; it only emphasized the fact that he was a dangerous man.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about if I decide to go upstairs, is there?” he said.

Faith felt she had plenty to worry about-the coil of desire tightening inside her, the feel of Shane’s rock-hard thighs imprisoning her, the fact that she seemed to want to stare at the sharp, firm lines of his mouth. At the moment she was more afraid of this immediate threat than the one she had received over the phone.

“No,” she whispered, not certain whether she was answering his question or denying the sudden ache of needs long neglected.

“No,” Shane echoed, very aware of what he was denying. He could feel himself growing heavy and hard against the pillow of Faith’s body as she stared at his mouth. It was a toss-up as to whether he was angrier with her for tempting him or with himself for knowing he was about to give in to that temptation.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he said in a low, rough voice, “unless this is what you came looking for.”

It was more an assault than a kiss. Shane’s mouth slanted across Faith’s, angry and demanding. His fingertips dug into her shoulders, pulling her even more firmly against his bare chest. She bent back like an archer’s bow under the pressure, her hips arching into his in a way that made his state of arousal very apparent.

Faith’s first instinct was to get away from him, but that response was almost immediately overtaken by another, more powerful instinct she seemed to have no control over-the instinct to give in to him. The desire was so strong that she sagged against him and her lips softened beneath his, allowing his tongue access to her mouth. Pure fire seared her veins at the intimate invasion, at the heady taste of him.

When Shane’s right hand slipped inside her open robe to cup her breast, she nearly cried out, the pleasure was so intense. His long fingers explored her through the silky fabric of her gown, his thumb flicking across the nipple that was already hard and aching. All the while his tongue plunged and receded in the warmth of her mouth, his message more than clear. He wanted her.

He wanted her. He didn’t respect her. He didn’t seem particularly fond of her. In fact, he had insinuated she was a criminal.

Then what in the world was she doing kissing him, Faith asked herself as common sense returned in a painful rush. It was accompanied by a sharp dose of self-loathing. What was wrong with her that she could feel attracted to this man who thought so little of her? Lord, he had all but said she’d come upstairs looking for this!

Tearing her mouth from beneath his, she jerked out of his arms and slapped him hard. The sound was like a shot in the still of the night. Shane stared at her, his expression a mix of anger, surprise, and thwarted passion.

Faith cursed herself again at the rush of desire she felt looking at him. He was only half-dressed. With his black hair tousled and his features outlined in the moonlight, he looked like an elegant savage.

“What’s the matter, Faith?” he asked, his voice a menacing, silky purr. “Isn’t seducing a federal agent in your repertoire?”

His sarcasm cut her to the quick. She took a step back and started to turn, ready to run to the sanctuary of her room, but she stopped herself.

Who did he think he was, accusing her of wrongs she hadn’t committed, pushing her around in her own home, taking advantage of her and then blaming her for it? No more. She wasn’t going to put up with one more insult. When she had left William, she had vowed never to let another man manipulate or use her again. It was time to honor that vow.

“I’ve had it with you and your sarcastic insinuations,” she began. “Who are you to judge me? You don’t know anything about me except what bare facts you read in some file. Well, here are a few more facts for you, Mr. Callan.

“William Gerrard married me because he thought I would be good for his image. I stayed with him because I was fool enough to believe I could change him. But he was a cold, unfeeling son of a bitch, just like you. He used me when I fit his needs and ignored me the rest of the time. And when I accidentally found out what he was up to with the DataTech people, I left him, because I couldn’t keep a vow to a man who cheated on both his wife and his country.

“I went to the Justice Department because I believed it was the right thing to do, not because I was trying to protect myself from prosecution. I haven’t done anything wrong.” Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, and she reached up to wipe them away, never taking her eyes off Shane. Her mouth trembled, but she held her chin at a stubborn, defiant angle, refusing to back down from him. “The only crime I committed was believing William Gerrard ever loved me.”

Shane looked away, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck, his own anger thoroughly doused by shame. She was telling the truth. He could hear it. Her voice rang with it. He could see it in her eyes. It cut through the barrier of his cynicism and made him face the fact that he had wanted her to be guilty because it was easier for him to deal with lies and deception than with innocence. Lord, what had he become?

“I wanted my husband to love me. What’s the penalty for that, Mr. Callan?” she asked him in a voice soft with tears and pain. She sniffed and added on a bitter note, “Besides having to put up with you, I mean.”

“That seems to be punishment enough,” he murmured, turning to stare out the window.

Fog obscured the view, but he didn’t really care. In his mind’s eye all he could see was Faith standing there in her silky nightgown, her bare toes peeking out from under the hem, her full breasts rising and falling with each jerky breath, her eyes shining with tears, her mouth swollen from the kiss he had forced on her.

Glancing down, he could clearly see the imprint of her heart pendent on the skin of his chest where he had all but crushed her against him. His cheek still stung from the slap she’d given him, but it didn’t burn in quite the same way as the mark on his chest did.

Once upon a time he had been a man of honor and principles. Somewhere along the way he had stopped believing in innocence. He had submerged himself in a gray world where there were only the guilty and the less guilty. And his strongest motivation had become staying alive so he could put the worst of the lot behind bars.

Faith Kincaid wasn’t a part of that world, but when he turned to tell her so, she was gone.

“I’m not being a coward,” Faith mumbled to herself as she fussed with Lindy’s covers.

Her daughter had dropped off to sleep. There was really no reason for Faith to sit by the bed. Lindy had come down with a normal case of childhood chicken pox, not malaria. Now would have been the perfect opportunity to slip out for a while and get a few things accomplished in the house. Still, she lingered, as she had lingered all morning.

No matter how many times she told herself otherwise, she knew she was avoiding Shane. She had spent the night alternately reliving their kiss and reliving her fury. Much of her anger had been directed at herself for that brief moment when she had surrendered to him and her own desire. Shame burned in her cheeks every time she thought about it. This time, though, she headed it off at the pass.

What did she have to be ashamed of? It was Shane’s fault. He had taken advantage of her when she had been startled and confused. She had no reason to hide from him. This was her home. She was going to have to put up with him skulking around, but she’d be damned if she was going to jump behind a door every time she saw him coming.

Her resolve sufficiently bolstered, Faith marched to the bedroom door and stepped out into the hall-directly into the path of Shane Callan. His arms went around her in an automatic reaction to save her from falling. The contact of body against body was brief, and yet Faith felt as if she had run directly into the sun, the heat was so intense. Sexual awareness exploded through her, shattering her sense of calm into a million shards.

“I’m sorry,” Shane mumbled. He felt knocked off balance. Not by Faith’s slight weight, but by the instantaneous rush of feeling their collision had brought on. It overrode even the burning pain in his shoulder. He shook his head to clear it, then fixed his gaze just to the left of Faith’s head.

Business. They had things to discuss that had nothing to do with the way she felt in his arms. “I need to speak with you about certain aspects of the surveillance. Agent Matthews has arrived to tap the phones. He’ll need an operations base, and I would prefer it be outside the main house. The caretaker’s cottage would be ideal.”

“You’ll have to take that up with Mr. Fitz. He owns the cottage outright,” Faith said, struggling not to notice how sleekly handsome he looked in navy trousers and a blue striped dress shirt, a silk tie neatly knotted beneath his square chin.

She knew for a fact that she looked like a bag lady. She hadn’t gotten a moment’s sleep and had been waiting on Lindy since before dawn. Her clothes were rumpled, her hair looked like a squirrel’s nest. It irked her that Shane didn’t seem to notice, and it irked her that she cared.

“We also need a list of the guests you’ve booked in advance as well as a list of any household help you’ve hired,” he went on.

Faith pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “You’re going to check them all out? It was a man who called. With the exception of Mr. Fitz all the help I’ve hired are women.”

“That doesn’t mean they couldn’t be connected in some way. Someone had to tell him where you are.”

“Do what you have to,” Faith said tiredly, wishing with all her might she could just close her eyes and will all this mess away.

Something in Shane ached at her expression. She looked so small and fragile… and innocent. He cursed himself again for having been such a bastard toward her. Her life was complicated enough right now without having the man who was supposed to protect her harassing her as well.

He cleared his throat in a rare show of nerves. What the hell did he know about relating to a woman like Faith? “Um-how’s Lindy? Ms. Jordan mentioned she’d come down with something.”

Faith shrugged, glad for the change of subject and touched by his show of concern. “She’s resting for the moment. She’s uncomfortable. I’m sure you remember how it was to have the chicken pox.”

“Actually, no. I never had them.”

“Figures,” Faith mumbled.

“Faith.” Apologizing was something he’d never been good at. The words stuck in his throat like peanut butter. “About last night, I-”

“I think we said everything that needed saying.” Her voice was a little shaky, but she managed to look him square in the eye as she took another step back from him.

“Mama?” Lindy’s voice drifted out from her room.

“If you’ll excuse me, Agent Callan, my daughter needs me.”

Shane nodded, sighing in frustration as Faith went back into Lindy’s room. Maybe it would be for the best if he let her go on thinking he was an obnoxious jerk. Ordinarily the opinion of others mattered little to him. He conducted himself as he saw fit, and to hell with the rest of the world. But it bothered him that he had treated her badly. Deep down, in a place inside him no person had touched in a very long time, it mattered what Faith Kincaid thought about him.

Swearing under his breath, he stalked off down the hall.

It just wouldn’t do for him to become attached to her in any way, and still he could feel the pull, the attraction. He had felt it the instant he’d first seen her, even though he had believed she was involved in the DataTech scam. Now that he knew she wasn’t, the desire was only going to be stronger.

He’d lain awake imagining what it would be like to go into her room and take her gently in his arms, to hold her and kiss her fears away. Every inch of his body had throbbed as he’d thought of what it would be like to make love to her until she forgot she’d ever known William Gerrard. And he had cursed himself to hell and gone for being so foolish. Faith Kincaid was a job. For both their sakes she could be nothing more.

Shane wandered through the halls of the big silent house, trying to unwind. In one hand he cradled a snifter of cognac, the other hand he stuffed into his trouser pocket. His shoulder throbbed with hot, sharp pain that defied mere aspirin. He was bone tired, as if he had spent the day doing hard physical labor under a hot sun. And yet an aching restlessness snaked through him, keeping him from falling into his bed.

The situation was well in hand. After a royal battle with the querulous Mr. Fitz, Matthews had gotten set up in the caretaker’s cottage. The phones were tapped. The other agents were in place and inconspicuous. Background checks were being conducted on all inn employees, including the cantankerous Jack Fitz. All he had to do now was wait… and watch Faith.

He had seen little of her after their encounter in the hallway. Shane told himself that was for the best. Yet he had found himself at Lindy’s door not five minutes earlier, checking to see if Faith would speak to him. It seemed what was left of his conscience was bent on apologizing to her. He just had to remember not to let it go any further than that.

He had found her asleep, propped up against the headboard of Lindy’s narrow bed with one arm wrapped protectively around her sleeping child. Mother and child asleep in the golden glow from a small lamp with a teddy-bear base. The scene had easily, effortlessly breached Shane’s defenses and left an ache near his heart.

His world was so remote from theirs. Now, for a short time, their paths would cross. Then he would go on alone into the gray shadows. The thought left him feeling hollow. Hollow and so alone.

Without turning on a light, he crossed the polished wood floor of the ballroom to the grand piano that sat in the far corner, moonlight spilling across it through the large windows. He set his glass down and flipped on the brass light that illuminated the keyboard. Then he sat down and began to play, the music flowing from his memory and his soul.

Faith awoke suddenly from a sound sleep. She scratched absently at the place where her heart charm lay against her skin as she looked down on Lindy.

Lotion and baths with baking soda added to the water had soothed her daughter’s itching enough to let her sleep peacefully for a few hours. Her fever was down. Luckily her case of chicken pox wasn’t very severe.

Careful not to wake her, Faith eased herself off the bed and went to the door, stretching cramped muscles. When she stepped out into the hall, she stopped and listened.

Music. It was faint, but she was immediately stricken by the poignancy of the piece. Every note was filled with longing, with an aching tenderness. The passage swelled with the pain of dreams unfulfilled. Loneliness hung in the silences between the notes.

She followed the sound to the door of the ballroom. Her heart lodged in her throat as she leaned against the doorjamb. Shane sat at the keyboard of the piano, his fingers caressing the ivory keys with the care of a lover. He played with his eyes closed, his face pale in the glow of the piano light. And she could see in his expression every emotion she heard in his music.

The song went on, slow and sad, rising and falling, wrapping itself around her, drawing her into its sensual web. Faith’s eyes filled with tears. Whatever she had chosen to think of Shane Callan, she couldn’t discount what she was hearing now. He was a lonely, haunted man. Those feelings reached out to her and penetrated her soul. They filled her with a sense of abject emptiness so sharp, she nearly cried out from it.

She knew nothing about him. What she had seen thus far hadn’t been Shane, but his defenses. She realized it in a blinding flash, and the knowledge both comforted and terrified her. Knowing there was more to him than cynicism and machismo didn’t change the fact that he was a dangerous man.

His fingers slowed on the keys as the piece softened to its close, a low minor chord that echoed in the still room.

“That was lovely,” Faith said, her voice hushed with reverence.

Shane looked up, startled that she had been able to approach without him knowing it. He was startled too by how lovely she seemed, He couldn’t figure out why. She was wearing jeans and a blue sweatshirt that was much too large for her. Her clothes were rumpled. Her mop of rusty blond curls was in complete disarray, looking as if an impatient lover had run his fingers through the mass over and over.

Perhaps this was how she would look after making love-tousled, a rosy blush tinting the apples of her cheeks, her dark eyes sleepy. A fresh wave of heat swept over him at the thought.

Suddenly aware he was staring, he caught himself. Damn, he felt as awkward as an untried kid. Squelching the feeling, he said, “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Faith shook her head, then amazed herself by sitting down beside him on the bench. She faced the opposite direction, her thigh no more than an inch or two from his. It seemed tantamount to going into a cage to lie down beside a panther. But somehow, after hearing his music, she felt less wary of him. He didn’t look like a man to be frightened of now. He looked tired and bleary-eyed and lonely. If that was how he felt, then they had a lot in common.

“How’s Lindy?”

“She’ll be back to herself in a day or so.” She folded her hands on her lap to keep from fidgeting. “Is everything… in place?”

“Yes. Now we wait for him to make the next move.”

She shivered at the prospect of receiving another threatening call. Every time she let her guard down, she could hear the ugly menace beneath the silky, faceless voice that had promised death.

Unable to stop himself, Shane lifted a hand and brushed back a curl from her cheek. “He won’t get to you. I won’t let him.”

“I don’t mean to be a coward,” she whispered, trying hard to ignore the warmth of his knuckles against her skin. She told herself she had imagined the possessive tone of his words. She was romanticizing again. “This all just seems so… unreal.”

Shane nodded. He imagined it did seem unreal to her. The threat of death was something that belonged in his world, not hers. Chicken pox and pot roast should have been the extent of her worries. “You’re no coward,” he said. “I think you’re very brave.”

“A compliment?” She had to force the smile, but the surprise in her eyes was genuine, and so was the warmth that blossomed in her heart. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Oh, I’m full of surprises,” Shane said with a wry, weary grin that made him look devilishly handsome. “Not all of them are unpleasant.”

Faith said nothing but rubbed her pendant absently between her thumb and forefinger as she looked down at the floor. He was full of surprises all right, just like Pandora’s box. And like the girl in the story, Faith knew an irresistible urge to open the box. Not smart, Faith, she told herself.

“You realize now you have no choice but to delay the opening of the inn.”

“I know. I’ll call everyone and tell them the plumbing isn’t ready. Nothing puts people off quite like the thought of malfunctioning commodes.”

Shane chuckled, ignoring the throbbing it set off in his head. He was surprised Faith had any sense of humor left. She’d been threatened and bullied and run ragged over the last couple of days, yet she seemed to have a reservoir of inner strength to call on when she needed it. There was a hell of a lot more to the former Mrs. William Gerrard than met the eye. And what met the eye held a lot more appeal than it should have.

“Faith,” he began, fighting the urge to touch her again. He was beginning to have trouble concentrating on anything other than the delicate shape of her mouth and the memory of how sweet she had tasted. He had to apologize now, just get it over with and get away from her. “I was out of line last night. I had no right to accuse you of anything. I’ve seen the worst side of people for so long, I guess I’ve just come to expect it. I’m sorry.”

“First a compliment, now an apology.” Faith shook her head. “Really, Mr. Callan, you’re making me giddy,” she said, teasing lights sparkling in her dark eyes as she fanned herself with her hand.

“Is the apology accepted?”

She nodded but didn’t look at him. Was he apologizing only for his belief in her culpability or for the kiss as well?

Overhead the sound began. Ker-thump… ker-thump… ker-thump…

Shane tensed. Faith smiled. “It’s Captain Dugan.”

He stared at her as if she’d suddenly begun speaking Portuguese. “Who?”

“The man who built the place.”

“He’s dead.” His statement held all the finality of the fact.

Faith rolled her eyes. “I know that. It’s his ghost. Ask anyone in Anastasia. They’ll all tell you the same thing. This house is haunted.”

“Californians,” Shane grumbled, scowling darkly.

“Skeptic,” Faith countered. A man like Shane Callan wouldn’t believe in anything that couldn’t be admitted as evidence in a court of law. She suddenly found the trait oddly endearing and decided she was losing her marbles. “Of course it’s Captain Dugan. He had a peg leg. The other ghosts here don’t make any racket at all.”

Shane’s brows lifted. No one had warned him he would be guarding a crazy woman. “Other ghosts?”

Faith’s look was one of feminine wisdom and mystery. “You don’t believe in ghosts, do you, Mr. Callan?”

Not the kind that haunted houses, he thought. He knew well the ghosts that haunted one’s soul were all too real, but dead sea captains with peg legs were a whole different thing.

He frowned at Faith as he rose from the piano bench, his head swimming as he did so. He ignored the dizziness as he had all day. It was nothing more than fatigue.

Easing his gun from its holster, he said dryly, “I believe in justice, football, and Smith and Wesson. Go to your room, lock your door, and stay put.”

Faith shook her head as she watched him leave. Of all the cops in the world she had to get stuck with Dirty Harry. And darn it, she had a terrible feeling she was falling for him.