neither of them came back out, then bolted from the garden and fled down the alley with barely a thought to my previous stalker.
I was so distraught by the sight of Devlin with another woman that I let down my guard and that wasn’t at all like me. Living with ghosts necessitated vigilance, but as I hurried toward the street, my mind remained in that strange garden and the lapse cost me. The looming shadow appeared out of nowhere and the next thing I knew, I was grabbed roughly and shoved up against the stone wall, a forearm jammed to my throat.
The pressure on my windpipe precluded a gasp, much less a scream, but the attack was over in the space of a heartbeat. Even as I flailed for the mace I carried in my pocket, the assailant was already backing away. The arm dropped from my throat and I heard a sharp intake of breath. Then incredulously, “Amelia?”
Devlin.
I was so gobsmacked by his nearness, I couldn’t utter a word. It had been months since I’d last seen him, but he’d visited my sleep nearly every night of our estrangement. Those dark, lush dreams allowed me to play out my every fantasy about him, but now I realized what a pale substitute the visions had been. Even with him standing there looking down at me so warily, I could think of little more than how much I still craved his touch. How much I’d missed his kisses.
“Are you all right?” he asked quickly.
Oh, that voice! That low, silky, old-world drawl that would always be my undoing.
I swallowed with some difficulty. “Yes, I think so.”
“What on earth are you doing out here? And why didn’t you say something? I might have hurt you.” He sounded a bit rattled himself.
“You didn’t give me a chance,” I said defensively. “Do you always grab people without reason?”
“I had a reason. I was visiting a friend and we thought we heard someone in the garden.”
“You mean a prowler?” How completely innocent I sounded.
There was a curious hesitation, then, “Yes, a prowler. I circled around to head him off.” He glanced past me up the alley. “You didn’t see anyone come out of here, did you?”
I shook my head as my heart continued to hammer.
“What about on the street? Did you notice anyone lurking about?”
“I didn’t see anything.”
His gaze was still on me, dark and probing. “Your turn, then. What are you doing here?”
“I…was just on my way home from the market.” Lamely, I held up my shopping bag.
“You’re a little off course, aren’t you?”
“You mean the alley?” I moistened dry lips. “I heard something, too, so I decided to investigate.”
His head came up and I sensed a sudden tension. “What did you hear?”
“It sounds crazy now,” I said reluctantly.
He took my arm and a chill went through me, half alarm, half desire. “Tell me.”
“I heard a songbird.”
“A songbird?” Under other circumstances, his utter bewilderment might have been amusing.
“It sounded like a nightingale.”
His grasp tightened almost imperceptibly and I could have sworn I saw a shadow sweep across his handsome features. Impossible, of course. Dusk was upon us and I could make out little more than the gleam of his eyes, but I had the distinct impression that my words had touched a nerve.
“There are no nightingales in this part of the world,” he said. “You must have heard a mockingbird.”
“I thought of that. But when I was in Paris, nightingales sang almost every evening in the courtyard of my hotel. Their trill is very distinct.”
His tone sharpened. “I know what they sound like. I heard the damn things often enough in Africa.”
Yet another detail I hadn’t known about him. “When were you in Africa?”
“A lifetime ago,” he muttered as he tilted his head to stare up into the trees.
Now I was the one utterly mystified. “Why does it matter what kind of bird it was?”
“Because if you heard a nightingale in Charleston—” He broke off, his head snapping around at the soft snick of a gate. Then he drew me to him quickly, dancing us both back into the shadows along the fence. I was too startled too protest. Not that I had any desire to. The adrenaline pulsing through my bloodstream was intoxicating, and my hand crept to the lapel of his jacket, clinging for a moment until a woman’s voice invaded our paradise.
“John? Are you out here?”
When he didn’t immediately answer, I slanted my head to stare up at him. Our faces were very close. So close I had only to tiptoe to touch my lips to his—
“I’m here,” he called.
“Is everything okay?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes, fine. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Hurry in.” I heard the gate close behind her and a second later, the back door of the house slammed. But Devlin and I were far from alone. A breeze stirred, whispering through the leaves, and I felt the unnatural cold of his ghosts. I couldn’t see them, but they were there somewhere, floating in the shadows, driving a wedge between us just as surely as the unknown woman’s husky voice.
Devlin still held me, but now there was a distance between us. An uncomfortable chasm that made me retreat into myself. “I should be going.”
“Let me drive you home,” he said. “It’s almost dark out.”
“No, but thank you. It’s only a few blocks and this is a safe neighborhood.”
“Safe is a relative term.”
How well I knew.
“I’ll be fine.” I was already walking away when he said my name, so softly I was tempted to ignore the entreaty for fear I’d only imagined it. I turned and said on a breath, “Yes?”
His dark eyes shimmered in the fading light. “It was a mockingbird you heard. It couldn’t have been a nightingale.”
My heart fell and I nodded. “If you say so.”
Chapter Two
Devlin didn’t call out to me again and I never glanced back. But the warmth of his touch lingered as did the frost of his ghosts. I’d spent many a sleepless night trying to convince myself that as long as I kept my distance, his ghosts wouldn’t be a threat to me. After tonight I could no longer delude myself. I had done nothing to lure them back into my life. They had come despite my best efforts, and I hadn’t a clue how to rid
