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He finally found his long-lost love, but will he have to arrest her for murder?
Adam Fox is a detective with the Chicago Police Department. He’s solved every murder case assigned to him, with a little help from the newly departed. No one on the force knows he can communicate with ghosts and he wants to keep it that way. His latest case brings him face-to-face with his teenage love—and the murder victim’s roommate—Evie. He’s more than ready to close this case and rekindle what he lost, but for one minor technicality: the ghost doesn’t know how he died.
Evelyn Harper can’t believe her eyes when she opens her door to Adam. She never forgot their brief encounter and regretted they didn’t exchange last names and phone numbers before she was urgently pulled away. Now he’s in front of her, telling her that her roommate was murdered. If that wasn’t bad enough, signs indicate she’s the guilty party. How can she prove her innocence before she’s arrested for the crime?
Adam has dreamed about Evie ever since that summer night eleven years ago. He’s not willing to let her go again and will do all he can to prove she’s not guilty. But the ghost is also in love with her, mad that she’s implicated, and won’t move on until she’s safe. And when the ghost is mad, the building can shake. How can Adam clear Evie and help the ghost move on before disaster strikes?
Chapter 1
Her name reverberated with the swish of the wipers as Adam drove through the darkened Chicago streets.
Ev-ie. Ev-ie. Ev-ie.
He hadn’t thought of her in years, but now she was all he could think about.
Ev-ie. Ev-ie. Ev-ie.
All because of those stupid pictures. Pictures of her. Pictures he’d buried. Not deep enough for a two-year-old it seemed.
Of course, if he’d thrown the damn pictures away, he wouldn’t be in this position. His head would be clear and focused on the job ahead. But just the thought of tossing the photos had felt like tossing a piece of his heart, so he’d kept them. In his wallet. Where they couldn’t remind him of the best and worst day of his life. And it had worked. Until tonight.
Ev-ie. Ev-ie. Ev-ie.
He pounded his forehead with the heel of his palm. Get out of my head! Someone was counting on his help tonight and a muddled brain only made things difficult. If not risky.
Adam parked in front of the apartment building, behind the medical examiner’s van. Oh great. In every case he’d been assigned, he’d never arrived after the M.E. It figured he would tonight. After a deep breath, he turned off the wipers and killed the engine. Right on cue, the skies opened up and what had been a light rain became a downpour. Drops pounded on the roof and quickly turned the view through the windshield into some kind of abstract painting as the street lights blurred into one another. He wouldn’t be able to make it to the entrance without getting soaked.
Because Heaven forbid something go right this weekend.
He reached inside the center console for a pair of gloves and found an empty box instead. Shit. Had he grabbed a replacement back at the station? He tossed the empty to the passenger footwell, leaned over to the glove compartment, and prayed as he pushed the button. Hey, lookee there, a fresh box of gloves. Maybe his luck was turning.
As he straightened holding the box, a spasm sliced across his back. Damn it. He stretched out the kink. Should he be happy he’d been woken with the call of another dead body at one a.m.? If he hadn’t, he’d still be sleeping—or trying to sleep—on his couch, where he’d be warm and dry, but not exactly comfortable. But when his sister had called earlier from the Chicago bus stop—instead of her home in Springfield—announcing she was getting a divorce when he didn’t even know she was having marital problems, what was a big brother supposed to do? Make her sleep on the couch? And what about her daughter? Yeah, it was only reasonable to give them the bed. If they were going to stay for any length of time—and it appeared they would—he would need a decent couch. Preferably one that turned into a bed. Otherwise, he might end up in traction.
He placed the full box into the console, punched his hand through the perforated top, and grabbed a pair of gloves. Bracing for the cold September rain, he quickly exited the car and dashed to the covered entrance. Lightning lit up the sky and thunder crashed barely a moment later. He flinched as the ear-shattering boom echoed off the buildings. Lights inside the foyer flickered.
Although the crime scene was in a public space, he didn’t need to go inside dripping. Adam shook the rain from his trench coat and ruffled a hand through his wet hair. That should be good enough. He snapped on his gloves, opened the door to the foyer, and greeted the current occupants. “Boy, that’s some storm, isn’t it?”
The two officers inside—most likely waiting to be released—merely nodded, but Detective Celia Delavau, his partner, or rather mentee, looked up from her smartphone and strolled over to him.
The petite Jamaican had been an outstanding officer. Her compact size was no impediment to the havoc she could wreak if pushed. But now she wanted to be a detective. And he’d been the lucky one assigned to mentor her.
He fisted his hands. This mentoring job was more than inconvenient. It was a pain in his ass. Oh, he liked her well enough, but before he was saddled with mentoring a new detective, he’d been a solo act. For good reason. Now his captain thought he’d be a good teacher. Him. A teacher. Wouldn’t that require being a good detective first? Just because he solved all his cases didn’t mean jack shit. He’d never solved one on his own and he probably never would. But it wasn’t like he could share how he solved his cases. They’d stick him in the loony bin.
And now he arrived on the scene not only after the M.E. but after her, too. All because his two-year-old niece had emptied his wallet.
“What took you so long?” Celia gave him that look. A look she’d used numerous times whenever she was frustrated. A look she must have perfected to appear fearsome. A look he needed a name for. The whites around her eyes practically glowed as they were a stark contrast to her dark skin. Yeah, sure, he should have made it here before her. He lived in the city, she did not. But they weren’t exactly best buds and he didn’t feel the need to explain himself. Especially since he was in charge.
That’s right. He was in charge. Not her. He relaxed his hands.
“I’m here now. What do you have?”
“Spencer Elliott, a white male in his early thirties, was found by the mailboxes. M.E. is inspecting the body, but suspects the vic was hit with something heavy, like a crowbar or tire iron, so he contacted Forensic Services. No murder weapon on the scene, though. Do you think I can take lead on this one?”
This was the first time she’d asked. Were four cases enough to set her loose? Hell if he should know. He couldn’t exactly use his experience as a base, although the sooner he got rid of her, the sooner he’d be on his own again. But would that be fair to her if he set her loose too early? Or let her have a case he could probably solve without the extra help? “Now how would it look if I gave you the easiest case to solve?”
She scrunched her forehead. “How is this easy?”
No way she hadn’t noticed the cameras. He pointed to the ceiling.
Celia glanced at the small black globe. “Oh. That. Fake. Meant as a deterrent only.”
“What?” Adam glanced at the entrance and the elevators. “How about security?” Although, he should know the answer to that. Hadn’t he just walked in without any assistance? He opened the door to the garage. There wasn’t any kind of keypad or lock on the door, either. Shit. He could have parked in there and avoided the rain.
“Zilch,” she said. “There’s nothing to stop anyone from entering or going up to the apartments. And apparently, not everyone knows they’re fake. If I lived here and I found out, I’d be pissed.”
Adam had nothing in his apartment building to keep people from coming inside, either, but then his building didn’t have a view of Lake Michigan and his apartment rented for maybe a tenth of what these went for. “Is that what happened here? A disgruntled tenant? You got witnesses?”
“Not really. According to the officers on the scene…” She tapped her smartphone and read from it, “The building manager, Mr. Tony Fiori, heard an argument. When he came out later, he found the vic like that. He called 9-1-1.”
“So no video and no witnesses.” What did she know that he didn’t? “And you think you can solve this case on your own?”
“I’ll admit, I don’t use voodoo like you do, but I can do this.”
Adam stepped back. “Voodoo?” In all the years he’d been solving murders, no one had ever claimed he used voodoo. A crystal ball, sure, but voodoo?
“Or witchcraft. I haven’t figured you out yet.”
Okay, she was just guessing. Still… He smirked and headed toward the body.
Elliott was wearing blue flannel pants and a blue T-shirt so bloody it obliterated whatever band or saying was printed on the front. His slippers had come off during a scuffle or push, but the blood splatter on the mailboxes and the puddle on the floor suggested his head had been bludgeoned with something substantial. The medical examiner was snapping pictures of the gruesome head injury.
“I take it he’s a resident of this building?” Adam asked.
Celia nodded. “He lives, or well, lived on the top floor.”
He pulled out his pen and notebook from his coat pocket. She might be comfortable taking notes on her smartphone, but he preferred doing it the old-fashioned way. A way that didn’t depend on a battery. “Where does the building manager live?”
“Over there.” She pointed across the foyer to a door marked with the numbers 101, which was to the right of a door marked MANAGER.
“Anyone else live on this floor?”
“No. The garage takes up the south wing, and the north wing consists of the building manager’s apartment, an apartment that the owners can reserve for guests, which is currently empty, and a huge rec room that leads to the pool and picnic area between the wings.”
“Owners?” He stopped writing in mid-stride and looked up from his notebook. “So this is a condominium, not an apartment building.”
Celia scrunched her eyebrows. “What difference does that make?”
“Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. It means everyone who lives here is part owner.” And why no security? Anyone who could afford these units certainly wouldn’t balk at the price. Adam turned back to the body. “Why does he look familiar?”
The M.E. stood with his arms wide. “Watch out. Detective Fox’s gut is getting ready to tell us who did it.”
The two officers chuckled. Adam waved them off and played along. “Will you stop? I need at least an hour.”
That turned the chuckles into laughs.
Better to have them think was just freakishly good than learn the real reason. He liked his job and wanted to keep it because it gave him the best opportunity to help.
“You probably recognize him from the television ads or billboards,” Celia said. “He’s a lawyer with the ACE Team. Ashe, Callahan, and Elliott.”
Oh, those ads. Yeah, he’d seen them and joked with his fellow detectives about the name. Just a bunch of lawyers who thought high about themselves. Except Elliott’s face was the only one shown in the ads. “Is he married?”
“Not according to the building manager. But he has a roommate,” she said.
A roommate? Why would a successful lawyer need a roommate? Or was it more like a girlfriend? Guess he’d find out soon enough. “Anyone check his condo yet?”
She grinned, but there was no joy behind it. “Just waiting on you.”
Was that another dig on his tardiness? Gah! He couldn’t wait to be a solo act again. Of course, if he did a good job with her, he’d probably get another mentee. And if he did a bad job he’d look like a schmuck. So, good job it was. He could only hope for a break between mentees. A nice, long break.
Two large elevators, the kind that could hold furniture, sat back in the foyer and faced the entrance. He punched the up button. Two doors marked as stairwells flanked each side of the elevator cars. While waiting for a car to arrive, Adam opened the north stairwell. Stairs led up only. He opened the south stairwell. Stairs led up and down.
“Anyone check the basement?”
“Officers did. It’s clear. There is access to the lower level of the garage from there. And access to the utilities. Although, that’s the only door that’s locked. Building manager opened it up for the officers. It was also clear.”
Lightning and thunder struck again. And the foyer lights flickered…again.
“How old is this building?” he muttered as he shut the stairwell door.
“I don’t know. Why? Does it matter?”
Of course she’d heard him. The woman had exceptional hearing. Another reason he’d like to be free of her. “No, but should the lights flicker like that? The street lights didn’t flicker.”
A bell announced the arrival of an elevator car. The doors opened slowly, squeaking in protest.
“Oh my God. It sounds like a Wookiee.”
“Like a what?” she asked.
“A Wookiee. You know, Chewbacca from Star Wars?”
“Never watched them.”
That figured. Did they have anything in common? He held the doors open for Celia out of habit, really, but one she apparently didn’t appreciate as she remained locked in place. Instead of apologizing, he entered the car, but Celia still didn’t budge. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you think we should ride it?”
Oh for Pete’s sake. He removed his hand from the opening. “If you want to take the stairs to the…”—he glanced at the panel—“twentieth floor, be my guest. I’ll wait for you.”
She stepped inside before the squeaky doors closed. He nearly laughed at the sound. All he could hear was Chewbacca.
Adam pushed the button marked 20. “I’ve never seen you afraid of an elevator before.”
“It’s not the elevator I’m afraid of. But if the power goes out…”
He hadn’t thought of it like that. And it was a valid fear. “You don’t relish being stuck in one with me? Is that it?”
“I don’t relish being stuck. Period. So what’s with the suit? It’s not usually this messed up. Did you sleep in it?”
He looked down at his pants. Sure, he’d wear his suits for a few days before changing. He couldn’t afford a whole closetful of the things. And surprise! He was a tad more wrinkled than usual. But then his niece had decided to use his coat and trousers as a blanket, after she’d dumped the contents of his wallet all over the living room floor.
Including Evie’s pictures. Damn it.
If he’d had a clean suit to wear, he would have changed, but he’d turned his dirty laundry in too late to pick up on Friday or even Saturday. If he admitted any of that, Celia would only ask more questions. “Didn’t make it to the cleaners.”
She snorted. “You actually have them cleaned? Where at? Wrinkles Are Us?”
“Ha-ha,” he dead panned. “You should try out at the comedy club. There’s more to the job than wearing a pressed suit.”
“Like owning a crystal ball?”
Ahhh, that explained the voodoo and witchcraft remark. Some of the guys had joked about Adam’s success rate and implied he was some kind of psychic. “You heard that, huh?”
“You’re the talk of the department.”
“They’re just jealous of my gut feeling.” He patted his stomach for effect.
“Gut feeling? Sure. One of these days you’re gonna have to tell me what you do when you go wandering off on your own.”
“You mean my job?” Another fine example of why he needed to be a solo act. How many more excuses could he come up with to be alone? And how many would Celia believe? If only he could tell her what he could do. But telling her would mean telling others and, well…that wasn’t happening.
Before Celia could question him more, the Wookiee doors opened to two condo units across a hallway that connected the wings. Dull, brown carpet showed minor tread wear. He followed Celia down the north wing. Elliott’s condo was at the end.
She rang the doorbell and lightly knocked on the door.
“It’s after two in the morning. No one’s going to hear that.” Adam pounded on the door. “Hello! Police! Anyone home?”
“Hold on! I’m coming,” a woman said from inside the condo.
He turned toward Celia. “What do you think? Girlfriend? Wife?”
“Building manager said Elliott wasn’t married but has a roommate.”
“Maybe she’s his girlfriend.” Lover’s spat? That could get messy, not to mention dangerous, which was all the more reason to solve this case quickly.
“Maybe. Or maybe she’s just a roommate.”
The door opened and all thought vanished from Adam’s mind. The woman standing in the doorway was a vision. An angel with the darkest hair, darkest eyes, and brown skin to compliment it all. Just like Evie had, all those years ago.
Damn it! Those stupid pictures were messing with his head. But still…she sure looked like Evie. What were the odds that he’d finally found her?
Zip. Zilch. It was the pictures. It had to be the pictures. They were stuck in his head.
“May I help you?” The woman, wearing what appeared to be an overcoat over a pair of leggings and a T-shirt, turned those heart-warming eyes his way. Her face squinted in confusion.
He pointed to the coat. “You going somewhere?”
“No. What’s this about?”
He unclipped his badge. “I’m Detective Adam Fox with the Chicago—”
“Adam?” Her face smoothed out and she smiled. “Oh my God! It is you. It’s me. Evie.”
No way. No. Way.
Maybe he was psychic after all.