The next day after Nick's last appointment had left, he closed his eyes and dropped his head in his hands, leaning his elbows on the desk. He'd had an extremely busy day, but what made it worse was that he couldn't concentrate on his new clients. He was too busy thinking about Miss Carlisle. That woman wouldn't leave his mind no matter how much he tried to dismiss her. Was she really a ghost? Had he been hallucinating? As hard as he'd convinced himself otherwise, no other explanation came to mind.

Yet Mr. Moore, who hadn't called back to reschedule, had seen Abigail's trick—had seen the chair move as if of its own accord. So perhaps Nick wasn't having a mental breakdown. After all, he could still function, and he still remembered the law and could assist his clients.

Could he consider Abigail his client? There would be no way to collect payment from her, but learning about her murder interested him, and gazing into her pretty face and amazing eyes made his heart flutter as never before. Thankfully, having a relationship with her was out of the question. The new Nick would not ruin his career over a woman...even if she was a ghost.

Earlier today, he'd run an Internet search for the Carlisle estate, but nothing of value came up. At least he wanted something on her uncle. The only other possibility was that Alexander Carlisle had changed his name or the name of his brother's company.

Nick blew out a loud breath and ran his fingers through his hair. He leaned back in the chair and glanced out the window. The sun had already set, and night crept in. So much to do, so little time. He glanced at the clock. It was seven-thirty—past dinnertime. His stomach growled. He'd have to order Chinese takeout and eat while working late.

From down the hallway, the click of heels echoed and grew closer. He looked toward the closed door. A woman stopped in front of the door, her shapely silhouette outlined by the frosted glass window. Inwardly, he groaned. Vanessa! He'd forgotten about their date tonight.

He braced his hands on his chair and rose as she walked in. Her face looked freshly made up, as always, but tonight she wore a pout on her heart-shaped, glossy red lips.

"I can't believe you're still working," she whined.

"I'm sorry, Vanessa. I've been so busy with clients today, I forgot about dinner. Will you take a rain check?"

She slinked across the floor and stopped in front of him, her short dress clung to her every curve. "I don't know. I'm very mad at you."

"And you have every right to be."

Within seconds, the lines around her mouth and the corners of her eyes disappeared and a mischievous grin changed her expression. Nick's hopes of getting out of this mess flew right out the door. As long as he'd known her, only one thing had occupied her mind. Now he'd spend the rest of the evening fighting off her advances.

"I suppose we could have dinner right here. A private room for two. Sounds perfect, doesn't it?" She practically purred in a low voice.

Groaning, he rubbed his forehead. "Vanessa, I'm too tired for company tonight. Not only that, but I have a lot of work to get done before tomorrow."

She ran her hands over his chest once before stopping to tease the buttons at his neck. "I won't take up too much of your time. I promise. I'll be more help than a hindrance, you'll see."

If he didn't take her out to dinner, she'd continue to hound him. "Fine. Why don't you run down the street and get some Chinese takeout. I could use your help on a few things. You have done research on the Internet, I'm assuming."

Her eyes widened. "What? You expect me to help you with your cases?"

"Of course. I just told you I had a lot of work to do, and since you insist on being with me tonight, I figured you wanted to help." If he could pat himself on the back for thinking up that excuse, he would have.

She huffed and folded her arms across her chest. He tried not to chuckle over her display as he dug in his pocket for a twenty-dollar bill.

"Here." He handed her the money. "Get me the special. It doesn't matter what it is—I'll eat anything."

Her heated glare pierced right through him, and he looked back at her with an arched brow.

"Fine." She snatched the money from his hand and swung around. The march of her step vibrated on the floor and bounced off the walls. Just before she reached the door, her heel slipped and she stumbled, but she quickly righted herself. Then she lifted her chin and hurried out of the room.

It wasn't until she slammed the door that Nick allowed himself to laugh out loud. While it didn't take much to make that woman angry, it'd been a while since he'd seen her this furious.

Nick slid behind the desk, anxious to search the Internet for information about Edward Carlisle. Although Abigail's death had occurred nearly one hundred years ago, her father was a wealthy man, and there had to be some information on his life and his assets.

Suddenly, a slight breeze crossed Nick's face and a hint of berries tickled his nose. He saw a white mist swirling through the air. After a few seconds, the mist coalesced into the woman who'd occupied his thoughts all day.

Nick smiled. Unbelievable! She was definitely a ghost. Wouldn't his mother find this scenario humorous, since he had never believed in her psychic mumbo-jumbo? "Good evening, Miss Carlisle."

"Good evening. You have made quite an impression today." Her cheeks darkened as she dropped her gaze to the floor. She walked to the chair across from his desk then sat down, looking perfectly straight and proper. "I cannot believe how many clients you have acquired in such little time."

It still surprised Nick that he hadn't called his psychiatrist friend for an appointment yet. But then, Nick was enjoying this momentary breakdown. Even if he had flipped out and wasn't functioning in the real world, his fantasy was entertaining.

"Yes, I'm quite shocked to think I've gotten so many clients, too. At this rate, I'll have to hire an assistant."

The pink in her cheeks faded, as did the twinkle in her eyes. She licked her lips and shifted on her chair.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I...well, I fear if you hire an assistant, they will not be able to see me."

The sadness in her expression made him stand and move around the desk toward her. He sat on the empty chair beside her. "Don't worry. If I hire an assistant, they'll see me talking to ghosts and have me locked away in a psycho ward."

Color bloomed on Abigail's cheeks again and she laughed. "Very true. That wouldn't be good for a man in your line of work."

"You can say that again, Abby."

At her sharp inhale, Nick realized she probably wasn't used to being called by her first name. After all, she came from the early 1900s and grew up in high society, and no doubt everyone around her had followed the rules of etiquette.

"Forgive me, Miss Carlisle. I suppose I should ask your permission first to call you Abby."

She lowered her gaze and nodded. "Yes, you may, but my name is Abigail. I have not been called Abby since I was a child."

"Is it all right if I do?"

"Yes, Mr. Marshal."

"No more Mr. Marshal from you. My name is Nick."

She met his gaze with a wide smile. "All right. Nick."

Was he hearing things or did it sound like she sighed his name?

Abigail cleared her throat and stood, moving away from him. He exhaled a deep breath, not aware he'd been holding it.

"I had a purpose coming to you tonight," she said.

He leaned back in the chair and ran his fingers through his hair. "And what would that be?"

"I think your lady friend looks familiar."

Nick sat up straight. "My lady friend? I don't have a girlfriend."

"The one who was here a moment ago."

"Oh, Vanessa."

"Yes, the one who was with you the first day of our meeting."

He nodded. "Vanessa Westland."

She tapped her finger on her chin. "That name isn't familiar, but I know I have seen her before."

He shrugged. "Her father owns the building. Perhaps you saw her before I moved in."

"No, I don't think so. In my mind, I can see her dressed as I am."

Nick stood and walked toward her. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." She met his gaze. "Wearing a hat similar to mine with a big bow and everything."

He stopped in front of her. "And this woman looks like Vanessa?"

"Remarkably so, yes." Abby chuckled. "And she even has the same kind of attitude."

He arched an eyebrow. "Like a spoiled brat?"

"Yes, as if the world should fall at her feet and do her bidding."

Nick threw back his head and laughed. Scary to think there could be two women like Vanessa in the world within a century of each other.

He sat on the edge of his desk. "Well, I suppose I could ask her about how her family came to own Capitol One Associates." He tilted his head and scratched his chin. "Do you think it might link to your murderer?"

"I couldn't say, but since this building used to be mine and now it's in her family, there is a remote chance we might find something that connects the two."

The sound of footsteps in the hall warned Nick of Vanessa's return. He stood and glanced toward the door.

Abigail must have heard because she gasped and stepped back. "I must go now."

He reached to stop her, but she faded into a white mist. He slumped on the corner of his desk. She hadn't given him any time to remind her that Vanessa couldn't see her anyway.

Vanessa opened the door and walked in, carrying two bags. She looked as if she'd never left angrier than a disturbed hornet. He inhaled the delicious aroma of Chinese food, and his stomach rumbled.

"Vanessa, you're a lifesaver. I'm so hungry I could eat a bear."

She set the bags of food on his desk and leaned into him. "Bear wasn't on the menu, but sweet and sour chicken was."

He gripped her shoulders to move her away, but suddenly Vanessa yelped and jumped back. Sweet and sour sauce covered her hand and ran down the side of her blue dress.

"Ewww," she shrieked. "How did that happen?"

Nick glanced from the tipped-over bag to the sauce spilling from the square carton onto his desk. Yet, the bag wasn't close enough to Vanessa's hand, so how did it spill?

He ran to the adjoining bathroom and brought back some paper towels to mop up the mess. He handed her a few.

"Why did you do that?" she asked in a whining tone.

"Do what? Get the paper towels?"

"No. Why did you tip over the container?"

Confusion washed over him and he shook his head. "I didn't tip it over. I wasn't even close to the bag."

She huffed. "Well, I certainly didn't knock it over."

"You must have, Vanessa. You were closer to the bag. Besides, my hands were on your shoulders, remember?"

"Augh!" She wiped her hands then dabbed at her dress with a paper towel. "This is going to stain. Do you know how much I paid for this dress?"

"I can only imagine," Nick muttered as he finished wiping the spill off his desk. He nodded toward the bathroom. "Why don't you clean yourself up before the stain sets in?"

Vanessa marched toward the door, but her heel must have caught on something, because she tripped. Her knees hit the floor in a resounding thud, and she let out a loud yelp. As she got up, she glared at Nick. "Why did you trip me?"

"Trip you? How could I from over here?"

"Oh!" She hurried into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Why was the perfect Vanessa being so clumsy tonight? Had she been drinking? Nick shook his head, remembering that he hadn't smelled alcohol on her.

The sounds of spraying water and a piercing shriek startled him. He rushed to the bathroom and flung open the door. The front of Vanessa's dress was soaked with water, and even her hair and face were dripping. Streaks of black mascara ran down her cheeks.

"What did you do?" Nick asked.

"Me? I didn't do anything. It's your stupid faucet. It blasted water at me."

He walked closer and looked at the brand-new sink her father had installed before Nick moved into the office. He turned the handle and she jumped away, but the water trickled from the spout like normal.

Nick gave her a quizzical stare and shrugged. "Works just fine for me."

She let out an unladylike grunt and pushed past him. "I don't know what's wrong with your office, but it doesn't like me. I'm leaving!"

He wasn't about to stop her. Funny how other things had prevented her from staying, almost as if the room had read his thoughts. He glanced around the empty space. The room couldn't have done anything. He grinned. But perhaps his ghost had.