"Do you have any idea where he is?" The words race out.

Both Oliver and Jose look downward, clearly trying to avoid eye contact.

"I wouldn't ask if it weren't important." My emotions start to get the better of me. "Lanie's in trouble. I found my murderer and he has her right now. He's going to kill her. Will you please tell me where John is?"

Oliver shifts his attention to Jose then his eyes meet mine. "John's at his mom's. He'll be pissed if you disturb him there. Not sure what's gotten into him the past few days, but He's really touchy right now, and he's always been protective of his mom's place. My guess is it has a ward stronger than this one."

If he's placed a ward on his mother's apartment, there's a chance I won't survive it. Why must everything be so complicated? But do I have a choice?

"Where is her apartment?"

Jose answers, "It's 212, but be careful. She's...odd."

As if John is the definition of normal...jeesh. Surely I can handle his mother.

"Is there a way we can help you, Cheline?" Oliver seems genuine in his offer.

"Tony...er Weston Tibauld. Do you know where he lives?" Jose stares at me blankly, but Oliver nods. I continue, "4311 Davis Island Drive. Margaret's there, trying to distract him, but I fear it isn't enough. The three of you might be able to work together to delay him."

Jose catches the coin in the air and palms it. His lips twist into a mischievous grin. "That is doable."

"Weston Tibauld?" Oliver asks. "Oh, yes, do I have a bone to pick with him. I will enjoy every bit of terror I reign down on him."

They have already disappeared when I begin to dive through the floors. I leap through a man wielding an armful of wrapped presents, a teen girl with her eyes glued to her cell phone, and a group of carolers singing "Silent Night." Fortunately, the second floor is quiet.

I round the corner and pass the elevators, on my way to the other side of Palma D'Oro. John's mom's apartment is the seventh door down the hallway. A flocked wreath with snowy pinecones and a huge red bow adorns the door to apartment 212. It looks inviting, but I'm sure that invitation is issued to humans, not ghosts.

"John," I yell from a safe distance, "I need to talk to you. The killer has Lanie!"

He does not answer. I have no choice but enter the apartment, come hell or high water.

I inch forward. The fear of being zapped to kingdom come takes hold. Another step, and I am shaking nervously in my Blahniks. The wreath is millimeters from my face.

It's now or never.

With closed eyes, I take a step and feel the wreath's fronds, as though they are gelatinous prickles moving through my skin.

A black cell phone is on the kitchen island. The counters are clean, the dishes are drying in the drainer beside the sink, and the smell of oregano and basil wafts through the apartment.

John's mom is seated in the den, rocking back and forth in a pale blue Lazyboy. The instrumental version of "I'll be Home for Christmas" plays softly in the background. A white phone is on her lap. One of her hands holds a rosary, while the other grasps a picture of her missing daughter, Hayli. She whispers a prayer, asking for her daughter to be brought home, saying that she deserves closure, that Hayli deserves a proper burial.

I let her be as I search the apartment for John. Hayli's room has a mound of clothing on the floor. A folded-up letter with hearts on it sits by a dusty computer on her desk. The room seems to have been left untouched for months, probably since Hayli went missing.

I continue through each room, searching for John and calling his name, but he is not here. With slumped shoulders, I return to the living area.

"He's gone home, dear. Left a couple minutes ago. I'm surprised you didn't meet him on your way."

Her raspy voice sends me three feet into the air.

"You can see me?"

She shakes her head. "I can hear you and feel you, but I've never been able to see that way, and my sight has started failing me in the past few years. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Please don't go through the trouble. Thank you for the info." I slip out quietly as she asks how long John and I have been dating.

John's door is in front of me in an instant. I walk through it, and he is seated in front of his computer, apologizing to his gaming buddies for missing most of the game. Apparently his mother had needed help from him, and when she had told him the wrong time for dinner, he just stayed there to eat. Hmmmph.

"John, Lanie's in trouble!" I say right behind him.

He tenses. After a deep breath he says, "I'm kinda in the middle of something."

Absurd. His game is not more important than my friend. We certainly will have a chat on priorities once Lanie is safe and sound, especially if he wants her in his life. "Omigod! The killer has Lanie! Are you not paying attention to a damn word I'm saying?"

This catches his attention. "I thought she was in jail."

"She's not. Tony...er...Weston Tibauld has her at his house on Davis Island. I witnessed him hitting her twice. He's tied her to a chair and he plans to collect Harold Bertwinkle's bounty on her head. Will you please call Grant?" My voice is shrill. I roll my eyes at him. "You can get back to your game as soon as you make the call."

He rises to his feet, pats his pockets, and races to his kitchen island. My eyes widen at his spoken vulgarity. "I don't have my cell phone." He repeats the curseword five times before saying, "Where did I leave it?"

"It's at your mom's, on her island." The black cell phone that I saw as I walked into her apartment has to be his.

He grabs his keys and locks the apartment. Faster than I have ever seen him move, he races to the elevator and pounds the down arrow several times. We watch as the elevator begins its descent from the sixteenth floor. It stops...and stops...and stops, each floor after the next until the empty elevator reaches the seventh.

"Damn it! Someone's pressed all the buttons." When we arrive, he says, "Just wait right here. We'll never get out of her apartment if you're with me. I'm surprised you made it out." He waits for the doors to close then presses the up button.

He is back before the elevator arrives. As soon as we step into the hall, he dials Grant's number and runs toward the parking garage. Winded, he stops right beside the door to the garage as Grant answers with a hello.

"Cheline says that Weston Tibauld is her killer. He has Lanie right now at his house and is planning to kill her tonight."

"What's the address?" Grant says.

John looks at me. He repeats, "4311 Davis Island Drive. I'm going there now."

Air moves through the phone waves. "I'd rather you stay put and leave this to the professionals."

"I can't do that. I'm less than ten minutes away."

"We should arrive close to the same time then."

The line goes dead and John exits to the garage. In seconds, the gas pedal of his Viper is pushed against the floor. He speeds off Harbor Island, drives by the Arena, and travels easily over the suspension bridge onto Davis Island.

Traffic is jammed in front of the hospital as an ambulance arrives. Slowly, the traffic breaks up and we begin to move. The road snakes between two gated subdivisions with armed guards stationed at their entrances. A few streets beyond, it narrows to a single lane. John pulls over to the side to allow passage to the driver of a Bentley. After that, he does not stop until the car is at the end of the road, in front of Tony's wooden fence, where he pulls to the side and parks.

He hoists himself over the fence and groans as his leg catches on one of the posts and he thuds onto the grass below. His ear is practically to the fence, listening as a vehicle approaches. Grant exits the unmarked police car and vaults over the fence, landing firmly on his feet. John mutters, "Show-off," then rises to his feet.

"You need to stay here. I can't risk your safety or have you jeopardizing mine." He removes his pistol from his holster and steps toward the mansion.

John starts after him. "I thought we were partners in this."

"My partner is having Christmas dinner with his family, exactly what you should be doing. Leave this to me so all three of us can get out of here safely." He turns around. "Does Cheline know where they are?"

"They're around back, in the guest house. It's kitty corner from where we are now," I say to John so he can repeat it.

He omits the second sentence. I raise my eyebrows at him, but he simply looks away. So that's how he's going to roll.

Grant creeps forward and I follow closely behind.

John says, "So, you're going, too? Lovely." He leans against the fence with his arms folded to his chest. "Well, I'm staying until I know you're all okay."

Keeping to the shadows, Grant moves quickly, but cautiously along the perimeter. As we approach the side of the mansion, I turn to check up on John.

He is no longer at the entrance. Out of the corner of my eye, I detect movement along the other side of the fence. John is directly across from us, and seconds ahead, as he is walking in carelessly and does not have to cross the pool area.

What an idiot.

I will myself to the opposite corner outside the mansion and arrive at the same time as John. I position myself to block him from the door to the guesthouse. "You need to do as Grant says. You're going to get yourself killed—and Lanie, too. Surely that's not your intent here, right?"

He hesitates but continues forward, bristling as he walks through me.

Shouting at him, I whip around and see slight movement in a shadow that is cylindrical with a triangular top.

As I realize the shape is a rifle and yell for John to stop, it swings like a baseball bat, cracking John in the head. His fall is immediate and I begin to scream as blood streams from the wound.

Tony mutters, "Haven't they heard of video?" and then he turns off the safety. "The other one won't get off so easily."

I will myself to Grant and punch at him wildly to keep him from walking into Tony's ambush. He jolts at the disturbance but continues on, his pistol drawn and ready to fire. I try again to impede him.

"If it's you, Cheline, I'll be okay. I'm trained for this." He passes through me, and steps into the backyard's light.

But all the training in the world has not prepared him for the crack of the bullet racing toward him.

Grant is down before I realize what has happened.

Blood pools around his head and seeps between the tiles. His breathing is shallow. I lay my head against his chest and hear his weak heartbeat.

"No," I scream, pounding my hands into his chest.

A laugh pulls my attention toward the guesthouse.

Tony has John by the feet, dragging him over the guesthouse's threshold. "Honey, I'm back, and look what I brought just for you."

The door closes as the ghosts and Lanie scream John's name in unison.

A tap on my shoulder whirls me around.

His eyes are full of life as he pulls me into a tight embrace that warms me through. "I thought I'd never see you again."

I shake my head. "You're not supposed to be here, Grant." I point to his body on the ground. "You've got to live. Please."

"I don't understand," he says. "I thought you'd be happy to see me." He brushes his lips against my forehead.

"I need you to go back, Grant. Please? For me? You can't stay here." It tears me up to say it. For seven years, I dreamed that we'd be together again, that we'd start up exactly where we left off, and now that the opportunity arises, it's when I need his distance the most.

"Come on, hun. John might be dying in there." I point to the guesthouse. "Tony, I mean, Weston is trying to kill my best friend. They need our help."

My request seems to take him by surprise as his shoulders sink with disappointment. I lean in to kiss his cheek, hoping that will be enough to propel him into action, but stop as a curvy figure, wearing all black comes into view.

As if the day couldn't get any worse.

"I won't let you take him," I say as the reaper nears, her stride haughty and confident. "You won't win this battle."

My threat doesn't sway her in the least.