Eternal (Shadow Falls: After Dark #2)(27)

Moving her hand up, she touched the collar and felt some engraving in soft, aged leather. Brushing the hair back, she turned the collar in a circle to read the inscription.

The tap of footsteps moved into the room. “Never turn your back on a challenge,” she repeated what she’d read. “Is that for the dog or you?”

“Both,” he said.

A flash of emotion touched his eyes. She had a feeling the saying meant something, but what? She batted back the curiosity. She was here to work the case, not get chummy.

“You two made friends?”

He held two files in his hands.

“Looks like it.” Della stood and walked to the large table. The dog followed her and rubbed against Chase as he joined them in the center of the room.

She dropped into a chair. Chase sat in the one next to her. Not so close their shoulders touched, but close enough she thought about his nearness.

He nudged the files over to her, his brows tightened. “I’ve already gone over them. Dozens of times. I’m not sure they are going to help. Getting more information would require we pay either Craig Anthony or one of his hired goons a visit. I have a feeling the FRU won’t allow it.”

“Burnett will allow it,” she said, certain Burnett would do everything in his power to save someone. She pulled the files closer.

“All we have are two possible names. There’s nothing in there that can tell me which one is our Natasha. And while having a name seems important, I’m not even sure that will help us.”

“It has to.” Della flipped open the first file.

She scanned quickly, looking for … she found the name of Natasha Owen’s mother. Jenny Owen. “It’s not Natasha Owen.” She closed it and reached for the other one.

Chase put his hand on top of the file. “How do you know?”

She decided not to lie. “Because her mother’s name isn’t Asian.” There was a slight possibility that Natasha’s mom might have taken on an American name. Lots of Asians did that, but usually it was the younger ones. Someone older than thirty or forty normally held tight to the culture of their parents.

“What? How? I don’t understand,” he said.

“Natasha’s half Asian.” She tried to pull the file from under his hand, but he flattened his palm on top of it.

“How do you know that? It was so dark in that vision that you … you couldn’t have seen her.”

“I didn’t.” She lifted up off the chair and pulled the picture from her back pocket. “But I’ve got this.” She considered not showing it to him until he released the file. But she was tired of playing games. They had to trust each other.

Not on a personal level, she reminded herself, still believing he held secrets, but enough to work on the case.

Enough to save two people … two people possibly in love, who needed and deserved to be saved.

Save Natasha.

She handed him the picture and cut her eyes around the room.

He studied the photo.

“Turn it over,” she said.

He did and then looked back up at her as if puzzled. “Turn it over to see what?”

He handed her back the picture. Her breath caught.

“I don’t … But it was … There were names here earlier. It had the name ‘Natasha,’ along with my aunt’s and Chan’s.” Glancing up, hit hard by the doubt in his eyes, she frowned. “I’m telling the truth!”

She stared again at the pristine white, unmarked back of the picture. Oh, hell, was her mind playing tricks on her?

Or was it the ghost?

*   *   *

Della looked at Chase standing by his refrigerator. “It was there earlier,” she said for the tenth time in the last five minutes.

“So you think the ghost wrote it then erased it?” He held out a canned drink for her.

“I … I don’t know.” She accepted the cold soda. It wasn’t diet, but she took it anyway. The icy cold against her palm reminded her of what it felt like when a spirit came for a visit—when they felt too close. She popped the top open. The fizzy sound triggered her need to be with Kylie and Miranda at one of their round-table meetings—to have them help her make sense of this, because it certainly wasn’t making sense to her right now.

Then again, why should it? Nothing made sense. Ghosts, visions, being bonded—feeling emotionally tied to a practical stranger. It all sounded insane. And that became her arguing point.

“I know it doesn’t sound logical, but does any of this shit sound logical to you? We’re dealing with some dead woman, and having visions where we’re different people. Tell me that makes any more sense than this, and I’ll accept I’m imagining things and find some shrink’s sofa to pass out on.”

“I didn’t say you were imagining it, I just think it sounds … messed up.”

“All of this is a hot mess!”

“Yeah, it is.” He opened his drink.

They both took a few carbonated sips, then she told him about the box vibrating in the empty casket and how the lid had fallen open and the picture had fluttered out.

Frowning, he stared at the picture as if half afraid. “Okay, so let’s say that is Natasha. How is knowing her last name really going to help us find them?” He dropped back into the chair.