Abigail awoke suddenly, horrible memories crowding her mind. She'd gone to sleep thinking of the day she was killed and the events that happened right before.

Groaning, she rubbed her forehead. She remembered that day well—as if it had just barely happened. She'd stayed in her bedroom most of the morning, turning away visitors and friends. Even her maid wasn't her cheerful self. Now Abigail suspected she knew why, since Lily had probably been her father's secret mistress.

After a late lunch, Abigail had taken a walk and ended up at the newspaper office. Her father's best friend, Harry, had tried to cheer her up, but it hadn't worked. She had locked herself in her father's office and sat in his chair, pondering her seemingly bleak future. That's when her uncle Alexander came to see her, demanding that she make him her legal guardian so he could assist her with her inheritance. Once again, he'd threatened to prove her unfit or insane, just so he would get her father's money. Her uncle had picked the wrong time to broach that subject, so Abigail had Harry throw him out just like he'd done when her uncle had come to visit her earlier that week.

She had been so exhausted after her uncle left that she'd fallen asleep at her father's desk. When she awoke, it was dark. She thought about turning on a light, but her throbbing headache made her think better of it. Suddenly, the floor creaked and Abigail heard the click of a pistol. The last thing she had smelt was the pungent odor of gunpowder.

Then a dream took over, not having anything to do with her murder. Instead, the light in her father's office turned on, and Nick swept her in his arms and carried her out of the room. He kissed her so deeply, it made her heart sing. He told her he'd been waiting for a woman like her all of his life. He said he loved her and always wanted to be with her.

Abigail smiled as she stretched her arms above her head. How she prayed that dream about Nick would come true. More than anything, she wanted to be held by him, to be in his arms forever. Indeed, she had been waiting for a man like him for a long time.

She glanced at the digital clock someone had left in the room a few years back, and it read six-thirty pm. But it wasn't Monday as she'd thought. It's Tuesday!

She shrieked and rushed out of the attic. Nick was going to see Cassandra Brown today. Had he left already? When she reached his brightly lit office, she sighed and hurried inside.

Nick was just slipping on his pinstriped gray suit jacket, and he spun to face her. "Oh, thank goodness you're here! Where have you been?"

At least he seemed relieved to see her, and the expression in his eyes told her that he missed her, too. "Please forgive me, Nick. I fell asleep and lost track of time."

He stepped closer, stopping only inches in front of her. "My dear, you slept almost forty-eight hours."

She shrugged. "I know. Sometimes that happens."

"Well, I'm on my way to see Cassandra Brown. Do you want to come?"

"Oh, yes! I hoped I hadn't missed it."

He turned out the light and locked the door. They hurried to his convertible, and Abigail kept in step beside him the whole way. Although Nick was a tall man, she managed to match his stride. Maybe she was more excited about meeting Cassandra than she cared to admit.

On the drive to the nursing home, Abigail told Nick all she could remember about the day she was murdered. She didn't dare mention anything about her dream about him. Even if she were brazen enough to tell him, it wouldn't come true. How could it?

"I didn't remember anything out of the ordinary. Everything happened just as I'd told you."

"What about smells? When you awoke in the dark room and heard someone, did you smell anything?" Nick asked. "Was the person wearing cologne or perfume? Did the person smell like printer's ink?"

Closing her eyes, Abigail tried to recall everything about those last few minutes. But as hard as she tried, nothing new came to mind. "No. I don't remember any smell, except of course for the bourbon and the gun powder."

Nick glanced quickly at her. "Bourbon?" He looked back at the road.

"Yes. My father used to drink that. The scent lingered in his room even after he'd died."

He chuckled. "That was my drink of choice for several years. Every time I socialized, I ordered bourbon. But I stopped drinking when I realized I couldn't drink away my problems."

"You were wise to think that." She grinned. "But I find it a coincidence that you and my father liked the same drink."

"Is it a coincidence?" Nick asked.

"I don't know."

"There have been a lot of things happening between us lately that aren't so coincidental." He smiled. "At least that's what I've discovered."

Nick had left the convertible top down, and Abigail rested her head back to look up at the night sky. "My grandmother told me about you without knowing what she was talking about. She mentioned you more than once as the man who would help me. The first time she said something about it, I had turned eighteen. She said she'd had a dream about the man who would help her granddaughter. Her next dream was a week before my father died. After that dream, she told me your initials. Funny how she knew things back then without really knowing."

"Do you want to hear something else strange?"

Abigail rolled her head on the back of the seat and looked at him. "What?"

"My mother was considered a crazy woman when I was young. Some people even called her a witch. She had conjured up potions to heal people, but mainly she liked to read their minds or tell them about their loved ones who'd passed on. She read palms and predicted their futures."

"She sounds a lot like my grandmother," Abigail said softly.

Nick was silent for a few minutes as he drove through town. Then he continued, "One day she came to see me. This was when I lived in Hollywood. She warned me about Leslie Blake, the movie producer's soon-to-be ex-wife. My mother told me my lifestyle would eventually ruin my career. Before she left, she told me that looking for women in the clubs I'd frequented was not where I'd find my true love. She said my soul mate was out there, but she'd be a woman who traveled a long distance to see me."

Chills ran up and down Abigail's arms. "Are you jesting?"

He glanced at her and shook his head before returning his attention to the road. "I'm dead serious, Abby. Of course, I didn't believe her then, either. It wasn't until the day after I'd met you that I recalled that conversation with her." He shook his head. "Very strange."

"Do you think she was talking about me?"

"I'm really starting to think that."

"That reminds me of the birthday present my grandmother gave me. It was a heart-shaped locket." On impulse, Abigail placed her hand on her neck again, wishing she still had that special piece of jewelry. "Apparently, it had been in the family for many generations. She told me it would bring my heart's deepest desire, if I only believed." She sighed and shook her head. "I wish I knew what happened to it. When I realized I was dead, I wasn't wearing the locket."

Nick looked at her again, this time grinning. "So, what is your heart's deepest desire?"

Heat crept up Abigail's cheeks as she thought of her dream. As much as she wanted to confess, she couldn't. "At the time, my heart's desire was to find a man who would love me, for me and not my father's money."

"So do you think I'm your soul mate?" Nick asked with a chuckle.

"I don't know, Nick. All of this is so hard for me to understand." She leaned toward him. "If we are soul mates, then why am I a ghost, and why were we born a century apart?"

He frowned. "I haven't figured that one out yet."

He drove a little further in silence before he hitched a breath and glanced her way. "I just realized I'd forgotten to tell you what I found during my research last night." He looked back to the road and continued, "I found an article about the rise and fall of your father's newspaper. Apparently, one of your father's employees had arranged to buy the newspaper from your uncle when he ran it into the ground." He peeked at her before returning his attention to the road. "Do you remember someone by the name of Harry Westland?"

She sucked in a quick breath. "Harry? Yes, of course. He was like my father in so many ways...so very overprotective."

"Well, he had arranged to buy the newspaper from Alexander two weeks before your uncle died. I'm thinking that Harry must have married Cassandra. Either that, or they were brother and sister."

"Goodness." She placed her hand to her chest. "I really didn't know Harry enough to know if he had a sister, but I suppose it's possible."

"Do you know if he was dating anyone?"

"Oh heavens, no. As I'd mentioned before, he was too much like my father—married to the newspaper."

Nick slowed the motorcar and pulled into the parking lot of the nursing home. Immediately, he groaned and pointed to the mint green Jaguar parked in the visitor parking.

"What's amiss?" Abby asked.

"Our dear Vanessa is here."

Abigail looked around. "Where?"

"That's her car over there."

"Do you want me to get rid of her like I did that last time she came to your office?"

Nick shook his head. "No. That wouldn't be good. We need to talk to Cassandra, even if it means Vanessa is there with us."

"All right. I'll be on my best behavior."

He climbed out, and then walked around the car and opened her door. The way his gaze swept the parking lot, Abigail wondered if he was checking to see if anyone was watching them. She grinned. It would be rather comical to see a man talking to himself and opening the car door for nobody.

As they entered the nursing home, Abigail noticed Vanessa right away. Although the model wasn't dressed as immodestly as she'd been the last time Abigail saw her, Vanessa's clothes still clung to her shapely figure as if they'd been painted on.

"Nicky!" Vanessa hugged him and planted a kiss on his lips. "I'm glad you made it."

"Of course I made it. I'm excited about meeting your great grandmother."

Abigail curled her hands into fists. She wished that woman would keep her hands—and lips—off Nick. Be a good girl, Abigail reminded herself as she followed them down the hall.

Nick gave Abby several concerned glances. Vanessa followed his gaze. Abigail stuck out her tongue at the clinging woman, but of course only Nick saw her.

"What are you looking at, Nicky?" Vanessa asked.

"Um...just the elaborate furnishings."

Vanessa arched a brow. "Really? I thought they were quite drab."

"Oh, no. They're very beautiful." He winked at Abigail.

A giggle bubbled up in her throat, and although she knew Vanessa wouldn't be able to hear, Abigail covered her mouth.

Soon they entered a patient's room, where a woman wrapped in a blanket sat in a cushioned chair facing the window. Limp, snowy white, thin hair hung over her shoulders. Slowly, the woman turned and her dull eyes looked toward Nick. Deep wrinkles covered her face and hands.

Although Abigail remembered seeing this woman somewhere before, she couldn't pinpoint where. The elderly woman resembled Vanessa quite a bit.

Nick pulled a chair closer to the old woman, while Vanessa sat on the bed next to her.

"Grandmama?" Vanessa said in a loud voice. "This is the friend I was telling you about, Nick Marshal. Nick, this is Cassandra Westland."

The old woman glared at her granddaughter. "I'm old, not deaf!"

Abigail giggled again, and once more covered her mouth.

Nick gave Cassandra his best smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Westland."

She arched a gray eyebrow and nodded. "You're a handsome young whippersnapper, aren't you? Well, I'll warn you now, if you're planning on marrying my great-granddaughter for her money, you won't get a dime. I'll see to that."

Abigail gasped, holding in another laugh.

Nick chuckled and shook his head. "No, ma'am. Vanessa and I are just friends, I promise."

The older woman huffed and turned her face back to the window. Nick glanced at Abigail and shrugged before looking back at Cassandra.

"Mrs. Westland, I hope you don't mind if I ask you some questions," Nick began. "I'm a lawyer, and I was doing some research on one of my cases last week when I ran across your picture on the Internet."

Slowly, the older woman turned in her chair and faced Nick. She studied him closely, but didn't say a word.

"The picture was taken in front of Vanessa's father's building," he continued. "The year was 1917. Do you remember that?"

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Of course I remember. I was in the photo, wasn't I?"

Abigail stifled a laugh, not wanting to distract Nick or make him laugh. The old woman sure had spunk, even at her age.

"That's great," Nick said. "Was the building yours?"

"You can bet your fancy car it was mine."

"I find it fascinating that a single young woman would be able to obtain a place like that back in those days."

Cassandra gave Nick a toothless grin. "It shocked most of Sacramento's high society at that time, too."

"How did you do it?" Nick asked. "I mean, how did you run a business as a single woman? I'd think it would have been hard back then."

"It was very difficult, and people didn't take me seriously. The building was purchased as my engagement present. I didn't have to pay a penny for it. Not long after that, I married. Vanessa's great-grandfather handled most of my affairs then."

"And who did you marry, if I might ask?"

"His name was Harry Westland."

Abigail arched an eyebrow. How interesting...

She wrung her hands, hoping Nick or the elderly woman would say something vital to her case. She glanced at Nick. He stared hard at Cassandra, and Abigail knew he was thinking about his next move.

Nick cleared his throat and leaned closer to Cassandra. "One of my clients says she is a distant relative of Edward Carlisle. Do you remember him? He was the one who owned the building before you bought it."

Cassandra's eyes widened and her face turned pale. Abigail's heartbeat kicked up a notch. The old woman knows something!

"Yes, I remember him." Cassandra nodded. "He died a couple of weeks before his daughter killed herself, if I remember correctly."

"Yes, that's right."

The elderly woman cocked her head. "And your client says he's a distant relative of Edward's? That's impossible."

"That is what she claims. My client seems to think she is related directly to Edward Carlisle."

Cassandra waved a frail hand through the air. "Hogwash." She held a pink handkerchief to her mouth and coughed loudly. Her eyes were steely brown as she narrowed her gaze at Nick. "From what I remember, Edward was married to his newspaper. He didn't have time for a wife. Even his own daughter was left out most of the time. But if by chance he did have illegitimate children running around, he wasn't about to admit it. He never did like owning up to his mistakes."

Abigail's heart sank. Was this woman saying that her father had sired children he wouldn't recognize as his own? No, she wouldn't accept it. Abby narrowed her eyes at Nick. "She's lying! My father didn't have other children. He was a prominent society figure. And he did own up to his mistakes when he made them."

Nick shook his head as if telling her not to say any more, even though only he could hear her. But it hurt her to think Cassandra thought of her father this way.

Abigail sank to the floor beside Nick's chair, tears gathering in her eyes. Cassandra couldn't have known Edward Carlisle, even though the older woman was right about how he treated his daughter. But even if Abigail had been put second in her father's life, he had still loved her. If he did have other children, she believed he would have loved and cared for them, too.

Suddenly, Abigail felt at once all the heartache and loneliness of growing up and wanting her father's attention. Her chest tightened and she could scarcely breathe. She wanted to fling her arms around Nick and cry on his shoulder, but instead she reached for his hand. Right away, his fingers wrapped around hers. Warmth spread through her like it had done the last several days, but something was different.

She glanced at their hands and shifted her fingers against his. It was a solid connection—she actually felt his hand, as if she was still alive!

A gasp tore from her throat as Nick's palm covered her hand. His skin was a little rough, just like her father's had been, and his fingers were strong as they gently rubbed hers. His gaze dropped to their clasped hands and then met her stare. His green eyes widened, and she knew he felt it too.

What's happening to me? I can really feel him! Yet there was nothing she could do right now to express the excitement building in her chest. Nick also looked out of sorts as he blinked and glanced at the floor, before clearing his throat as he returned his attention to Cassandra.

Abigail dropped her head to their clasped hands and kissed his knuckles. Touching his skin with her lips felt heavenly. She slid her cheek along his fingers, relishing in the joy of feeling alive once again.

Nick cleared his throat again and squirmed in his chair. "So, Mrs. Westland, I get the impression you knew Edward Carlisle well."

Cassandra shrugged. "As well as anyone in town, I suppose."

"Do you honestly believe he had other children besides Abigail?"

Abigail glanced at Cassandra. There were tears gathering in the older woman's eyes. A few silent minutes passed. Abigail's heartbeat strummed in her throat.

"Grandmama?" Vanessa finally whispered. "Did you hear the question?"

"Of course I heard him, Vanessa. I told you before, I'm not deaf." Cassandra waved her frail hand to shoo her great-granddaughter away, and then shook her head. "I'm tired now. Please have your friend leave. I don't wish to think about that time in my life any longer."

Nick stood and Abigail followed, still clutching his hand. He looked at Vanessa and shrugged.

"If I said anything out of turn, I'm sorry—"

Vanessa shook her head as she ushered him out of the room. "Grandmama gets this way. It's like she gets lost in memories."

"Do you think she'll have me back so I can ask her more questions?"

"I'll ask her, but not now."

Nick nodded. "I'd appreciate that. It's very interesting talking to her. I'd like to continue our conversation later."

Vanessa snuggled into him, slipping her arm through his. "Would you like to go do something tonight? I don't have anything planned."

Abigail glared at the brazen woman. How dare she touch Nick!

"I can't. I have plans," he said politely. "But we can go to lunch sometime if you'd like."

Vanessa pouted as she pulled away. "All right. I'll let you go if you promise you're not hurrying off to meet another woman."

Nick tilted his head back and laughed. "Another woman? I don't think so. If I was, she wouldn't be from my lifetime." He grinned.

He hurried to the car, his fingers still entwined with Abigail's. Once she was certain nobody could hear them, she squeezed his hand. "Do you feel that?"

This time when he looked at her, pleasure darkened his eyes. "You know I do. But what happened? Why do I feel you?"

"I don't know, but I could have jumped out of my skin with joy in there."

"Me, too. Do you know how hard it was to act like nothing was happening?"

He opened the passenger's side door and motioned for Abigail to slide in. He hurried and closed the door then practically ran to get in on his side. He didn't take her in his arms like she wanted. Instead, he started the car and raised the top to the convertible.

She sat still, holding her breath, praying he'd want to touch her. He looked almost too stiff. Her gut clenched. Did he not like the idea of holding her?

Once he was on the road, he leaned back in his seat and draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. With a relieved sigh, she snuggled up to him and rested her palm on his chest.

"Nick? What do you think this means? Why do you think I can feel you now when I have not been able to before?"

He shook his head. "You're asking the wrong person, honey. I have a couple of guesses, but I don't know for sure."

"What do you think?"

"Well, first I think I've completely lost my mind and that's why I can feel you. Or maybe we're getting closer to finding your killer and that's why you're becoming real."

She chewed her lower lip before whispering, "I wonder when we do discover who killed me, will I pass over at that exact moment?"

"I don't know, honey." He leaned closer and kissed her forehead. "I don't want to think about that right now."

"Me either," she said in such a low voice that Nick had to lean closer to hear her. How could she think of leaving him when she'd just found him?

"So then maybe we should pretend that I'm completely crazy," Nick said, "and that's the reason for all of this."

She laughed and stroked his face. "Oh, Nick. I really cannot believe I'm touching you. Your skin is so warm, so smooth." She moved her hand down his neck to his chest. "I can feel the beat of your heart against my palm." She smiled.

A deep groan tore from his throat, and he turned the car down a darkened street. Soon, he stopped the vehicle and switched off the engine.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I can't do this anymore. I can't keep driving when I have you on my mind."

In one sharp move, he gathered her in his arms, bringing his face to her neck. She sighed and leaned her head back, enjoying his hot breath on her skin.

"Abby, I've wanted to touch you for so long," he mumbled against her neck.

"Me, too." She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding his head against her.

His hands traveled over her back and arms then moved up to gently stroke her hair. He kissed her neck before sliding his lips to her mouth. When he captured her lips, she gasped. Every nerve responded to his touch. She wanted the kiss to last forever.

She leaned into him, tightening her hold around his neck. A deep moan came from him as the kiss deepened. Sighing, she enjoyed the way his lips moved with her, and because she wasn't used to being kissed in such a fervent way, all she could do was follow his lead.

Nick pulled her closer, never taking his mouth from hers, but before she could truly enjoy the many sensations assaulting her body, a bright light shone inside the car, followed by a loud bang on the window.