After Dark by Jayne Castle

marks that had been burned into the paint. “Your landlord is not your biggest issue right now.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    He did not answer right away. Hell, maybe he was wrong, he thought. Maybe he was letting his imagination run riot. It was just barely possible the marks were merely random.
    He walked slowly into the room, examining the singed paint. The more closely he looked, the more he knew that his first reaction had been the right one. The marks were not the haphazard scorching of a small out-of-control ghost. Admittedly it was sloppy work, but he could make out the design. The three wavy lines were unmistakable.
    â€œYour neighborhood punk didn’t do this,” Emmett said.
    â€œDon’t bet on it. We’ve got some strong young budding ghost-hunters around here. Future hoodlums, all of ’em. And all itching to join the Guild.”
    â€œI don’t care how strong they are. Those burn marks are deliberate. They aren’t random scorches. Whoever summoned the ghost had it under full control. No untrained dissonance-energy para-rez could have managed that degree of accuracy with a wild ghost.”
    She eyed him uneasily. “Do you really think so?”
    â€œYeah,” Emmett said very quietly. “I really think so. We need to talk.”
    She studied him for a long moment. “You think this has something to do with your missing cabinet, don’t you?”
    â€œYes.”
    She hesitated. “Okay, we’ll talk. But the conversation will have to take place some other time. Right now I’ve got to get this wall painted, and then I have to get to work.”
    She snatched the paintbrush back out of his hand, stepped around him, and started toward the wall.
    His first impulse was to grab the brush again, but he resisted the temptation. Maybe he’d been wrong about her relationship with Chester Brady. Maybe he’d been wrong about some other things as well. He was still winging it, he reminded himself. Still playing it by ear. So much depended on hitting the right notes.
    â€œI’ll take you to dinner tonight,” he said. “We’ll talk then.”
    She frowned. “What is this? Has something changed since yesterday?”
    He glanced at the design that had been etched into her wall. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
    She gave him a steely look. “I’d better remind you that we have a contract, Mr. London.”
    â€œI’m aware of that, Miss Smith. Like I said, I’ll fill you in this evening. In the meantime, don’t make any further inquiries concerning my cabinet.”
    Alarm flashed in her eyes. “Why not?”
    â€œThere isn’t time to go into it now.”
    â€œWait just one damn minute here.” Her voice heated swiftly. “I’ve got plans to talk to three more antique shop owners today.”
    â€œForget them.”
    â€œBut—”
    He turned to face her. “That is a direct order, Miss Smith. I don’t want you making any more inquiries on my behalf concerning the cabinet until we’ve discussed the matter tonight. Is that understood?”
    Most people backed down when he used that tone. Lydia’s jaw tightened, but she did not give so much as an inch.
    â€œNo,” she said, “it is not understood.”
    â€œLet’s get something clear here. I’m the client. I’m telling you that I will not pay you another cent if you continue talking to dealers about the cabinet.”
    â€œBut we have a contract,” she protested.
    â€œPaint your wall, Miss Smith. I’ll pick you up tonight at seven.”

6
    â€œS O WHO’S THIS guy you’re going out with tonight?” Zane Hoyt helped himself to a can of Curtain Cola from Lydia’s small refrigerator. “Someone you met at the museum?”
    â€œSort of. He’s a new client.” Lydia peered into the hall mirror and adjusted the gold hoop in her ear.