Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author HEATHER GRAHAM
A sinister tale sure to appeal to fans across multiple genre lines.
Publishers Weekly on The Death Dealer
Mystery, sex, paranormal events. Whats not to love?
Kirkus Reviews on The Death Dealer
The intense, unexpected conclusion will leave readers well satisfied.
Publishers Weekly on The Dead Room
An incredible storyteller.
Los Angeles Daily News
A seamless plot and diverse charactersa tasty serial killer subplot.
Romantic Times BOOKreviews on The Dead Room
Graham peoples her novel with genuine, endearing characters.
Publishers Weekly on The Séance
Grahams rich, balanced thriller sizzles with equal parts suspense, romance and the paranormalall of it nail-biting.
Publishers Weekly on The Vision
Another top-notch thriller from romance icon Graham.
Publishers Weekly on The Island
There are good reasons for Grahams steady standing as a best-selling author.
Booklist on Ghost Walk
Graham builds jagged suspense that will keep readers guessing up to the final pages.
Publishers Weekly on Hurricane Bay
HEATHER GRAHAM
THE DEATH DEALER
To the New World School of the Arts, especially Ms. Graham, teacher of creative writing and English, who knows enthusiasm is the biggest part of the game; and Mr. Jim Randolph, The God of Theater, who keeps himself and his kids real, who knows theres a big bad world out there but keeps a thumb on caring.
And for Beth Fath, a parent with quiet dedication; and Debbie Benitez, who has helped keep me sane and informed on more than one occasion!
Quoth the raven, Nevermore!
Edgar Allan Poe
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
INTERLUDE
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Its not easy being a ghost.
You would think that it would be the most natural thing in the world. There you goyoure dead. Live with it.
But its far more difficult than you would ever imagine.
It begins with why?
Oh, we all know the theories. A death by violence. Something left undone. Someone to be protected, someone to be warnedsomeone to be avenged.
Vengeance? Once youre a ghost? Great stuff.
But that wasnt my situation. My killer perished split seconds before the light of life faded from my own eyes. It wasnt that I hadnt loved lifeI had. There were those left behind whom I cherished deeply.
The great love of my life, Matt Connolly, had gone before me, however. And he was there to greet me when I arrived.
Crossed over, as they say. Except theres the thingyou havent actually crossed over. Youre existing in a vague and shadowy world where, often, you see something truly horrible about to take placeand you dont have the power to stop it.
Id known something of what would occur. I had almost died before. I had felt the power of the light that beckonsan invitation to heaven? I dont know the answer to that yet.
Because that time I lived. And this time I stayed.
As a ghost.
And I know that Ive remained behind for a reason, though I havent a clue as to the specifics. But at least, unlike some, Im pretty sure I do have a purpose.
Ive come across many of my kind who are far more lost than I am, having had a strange relationship with them after my near-death experience and before I departed the life of flesh and blood. Theres Lawrence Ridgeway, Colonel Lawrence Ridgeway, a charming fellow, with his perfectly trimmed beard and mutton-chops.
Sadly, he cant accept the fact that the Civil War has been won. He was a brave soldier who came to New York during the terrible draft riots of the eighteen-sixties. No matter how often I try to explain things to him, hes forever keeping guard over his long-gone prisoners. Matt, too, has tried to point out to him that there are no prisoners present, but poor Colonel Ridgeway simply cant accept that fact. Im afraid hes doomed to haunt one particular hallway here in Manhattans historic Hastings House forever, a sad and tragic figure wholl never find closure.
Marnie Brubaker died in childbirth. Shes a sweet and charming creature, and she loves the children who pass through the house. Children tend to be more open than adults to visits from my kind. Marnie likes to play games with the little ones. When theyre falling asleep on a parents shoulder, she sings lullabies. Every once in a while, one of them gets scared by her presence and screams bloody murder, which puts her into a funk for weeks to come. All she wants is to offer is love and comfort, but some people, even kids, just dont want solace from a ghost.
There are those, like Colonel Ridgeway, who will go on repeating their last action over and over again. Then there are those who learn to move around the physical worlds. Passing through walls. Appearing and disappearing at will. Moving objects. The truth of it is, we ghosts can learn to do all kinds of things, so long as we have the will, the patience and the stamina.
I was the victim of a killer who first took the lives of others, before he took mine. But theres no pain in my world, especially not for me. Because Matts here with me, and thats really all that matters. He died the night of my almost-death, and he stayed behind to warn me. To save me. But my salvation wasnt to be. In the end, I died to save Genevieve OBrien. And so far, at least, Ive been successful. But as a social worker, shes one of those people who wont rest in her quest to help others, and that can put her in danger sometimes.
Then theres Joe Connolly, Matts cousin. Hes a private detective and a super guy. A tough guy.
But no ones so tough that he can defy death. Lifes not like the movies. Most of the time, the bad guys can aim, so Joe can use some protection, whether he knows it or not.
I believe Matt and I have stayed on because of either Joe or Genevieve. Or maybe both. Its our job to make sure theyand maybe othersstay safe.
Nope, being a ghost isnt easy. In fact, its damn hard work protecting people when most of the time they cant even see you and dont think they need protection, anyway.
Take Joe. He has a thing about going to the graves of the people he couldnt saveincluding Matts and mine. Sometimes he brings flowers. Sometimes he just sits in deep thought. And sometimes he talks. Then he looks around, hoping that he hasnt been overheard. I imagine that it would be difficult to obtain new clients if word got out that he was insane. But everyone out there has his own way of coping with loss. For Joe, its talking to people at their grave sites.
Thats how we became involved in the Poe Killings.
And thats how Joe became involved with Genevieve again.
She was a child of privilege, but even after shed almost lost her own life, she couldnt stop herself from investigating problems.
Including murder.
CHAPTER 1
The crash occurred on the FDR. Strange thing, Joe had just been driving along Manhattans East Side and thinking it was amazing that there werent more accidents on the busyand outdatedhighway when, right in front of him, a crash caused the car a few lengths ahead of him to slam into someone else. The sounds of screeching tires, shattering glass, grating steel and several massive impacts were evidence that the domino effect had come into play. Someone almost stopped in the aftermath of the first collision, but then that car was pushed into the next lane, and the driver coming up didnt have time to stop. He slammed into it hard and careened into the next lane. The car that hit that driver bounced over the median and into the oncoming traffic going south.
Joe somehow made it off to the side, threw his car into Park and hit 9-1-1 on his cell phone. He reported what he saw and his position, dropped the phone and hurried out to help.
The car that had caused the initial crash was fairly far ahead of him, but there was a line of disabled vehicles stretching back from it almost to where he was.
The people in the car closest to him were fine, and so were the people in the next vehicle, and the driver of the third probably had nothing more than a broken arm.
The smell of gas around the car that had hopped the median was strong, thougha bad sign.
People had stopped all around, talking, shouting, while other drivers were trying to get around the wreckage no matter what.
Hey, its going to blow up! someone called to Joe as he approached the car. He lifted a hand in acknowledgment but kept going. He wasnt a superhero, hed just worked lots of accident scenes when hed been a cop, and an inner voice was assuring him thatdeath-defying or nothe had time to help.
The car was upside down. There was blood coming from the drivers head, which was canted at an awkward angle. The mans eyes were closed.
Hey. You have to wake up. Weve got to get you out of there. Im going to help you, Joe told him.
My niece, the man said. Youve got to help my niece. He grabbed Joe, his grip surprisingly strong.
Trish, the man said.
Then Joe saw the little girl. She was in the back. Not really big enough for the seat belt, she had slipped out of it and was on the roofnow the floorwith silent tears streaming down her face.
Joe said with forced calm, Come on, honey. Give me your hand.
She had huge, saucer-wide blue eyes, and she was maybe about seven or eight and just small for her age, he decided. Trish, he said firmly. Give me your hand.
He sighed with relief when she did so. He managed to get her out, even though she had to crawl over broken glass on the way. As soon as he had her in his arms, someone from the milling crowd rushed forward.
Get the hell out of here now, buddy! the man who took the child told him. The car is going to blow.
Theres a man in the car, Joe said.
Hes dead.
No, Joe said. Hes alive. He talked to me.
Joe was dimly aware that the air was alive with sirens, that evening was turning to night. He was fully aware of the fact that he didnt have much time left.
Flat on his stomach, he shouted to the man who had taken the child from him. Get them backget them all back!
Trish? the man in the car said.
Its all right. Shes out. Shes safe. Now, get ready, because Im releasing your seat belt. Youve got to try to help me.
He did his best to support the guys weight after he released the seat belt, but it was a struggle. An upside-down crushed car didnt allow for a lot of leeway, especially when it was about to explode.
But he got the man out. He could only pray that he hadnt worsened his pain or any broken bones.
Help me! he roared, once he had the man away from the car.
The same Good Samaritan who had taken the child came rushing up. Together, they started to half drag and half carry the man from the wreckage.
Just in time.
The car exploded, flames leaping high over the FDR. They would have been easily seen over in Brooklyn, and probably even halfway across Manhattan.
The blast was hot and powerful. He felt it like a huge, hot hand that lifted him, the victim and his fellow rescuer, and tossed them a dozen feet so that they crashed down hard on the asphalt.
Joe rolled, trying to take the brunt of the impact, knowing he was in far better shape to accept the force than the victim of the crash.
For a moment he didnt breathe, since there was nothing to breathe but the fire in the air.
Then he felt pain in almost every joint, and the hardness of the road against his back. He became aware of the screams around him, which he hadnt heard before; the blast had sucked all the sound out of the air along with the oxygen.
You all right, buddy? he asked the man who had helped him.
Yeahyou?
Fine.
The next thing he knew, there was a young EMT hunkered down in front of him. He tried to struggle up.
Take it easy. Dont move until were sure you havent broken something, sir, the med tech said.
Theres nothing broken. Im good, Joe told him. The guy who helped me
Hes being taken care of.
The man in the carI think he was hurt pretty bad, Joe said.
We, uh, we got it, the med tech told him. And, he added gently, the girl is fine. Everyones already talking about how you saved her life.
Great, good, Joe said. But the man needs
Sir, Im sorry to tell you, but hes dead.
I thought he had a chance.
The med tech was silent for a minute. You did a good thing, he said very softly. But that manhe died on impact, sir. Broken neck.
Nohe talked to me.
I think maybe you hit your head, sir. That man couldnt have spoken to you. Im sure his family is going to be grateful you got the body out, but hes been dead since the first impact. Honest to God. It was a broken neck. He never suffered. As he spoke, the med tech got a stethoscope out; apparently he wasnt taking Joes word that he was okay.
Joe had his breath back. He pushed the stethoscope aside and sat up, staring at the med tech. What did the kid know? He wasnt the coroner.
He was alive. He spoke to me. I wouldnt even have seen the girl if he hadnt told me she was in the car.
Sure.
Joe knew damned well when he was being humored. Im telling you, Im fine.
He knew the EMT was all good intentions, but he was just fineexcept for this kid trying to tell him that the man had died on impact.
Sir, let me help you, the med tech said.
You want to help me? Get me the hell out of here, Joe told him. Fast.
Just let me get a stretcher.
Sure, Joe said, figuring anything that would get the guy out of the way was fine.
As soon as the med tech went off for a stretcher, Joe took a deep breath and made it to his feet. Damn, it hurt. Well, hed been pretty much sandblasted when he skidded down on the roadway, and he wasnt exactly eighteen anymore.