is this mysterious person?”
“You’ll see.”
Her grandmother? Eden’s heart leapt. She missed her grandmother, Sophia Verone, so very much. As soon as Eden heard of Eddy’s death, she’d called her grandmother. On the phone, Sophia sounded desolate and weak. She’d outlived both of her own sons, and now she’d lost her only grandson, Eddy. Granddaughter Eden felt guilty to be living so far away; she was as good as gone. She’d left her grandmother alone in a nest of vipers.
Sister Max led her down the stairs, past the cafeteria and into a tunnel that connected with the church. It was the route used by students attending Mass during snowy weather. “I’m sorry for your loss, Candace. I mean, Eden. Your brother chose a dangerous path.”
His life in crime, supposedly serving the family, had killed him. Just as it killed her father and her uncle. And her one true love. His name whispered through her conscience like a forbidden breeze. Peter Maggio. Over the years, Eden had tried not to think of him, to force his presence from her mind. But her senses would never forget his gentle caresses. Her ears always listened for the rich deep timbre of his voice, speaking to her of love, promising he would never leave her. Her eyes were reminded of Peter every single day. Their son, Josh, who was nearly twelve years old, looked more and more like his father as he matured. Sometimes, Josh would cock his head at a certain angle when asking a question, and she would see the reincarnation of Peter in the dark eyes of a son who had never met his family. And never would, Eden swore. Her primary goal in life was to keep Josh safe from the Verones.
In the basement of St. Catherine’s church, Sister Max pushed through one closed door and then another. She paused outside a third door. “This may be difficult for you, Eden. But I believe this meeting is necessary. For what it’s worth, I’ve always known in my heart that he was a good man.”
He? What good man was she talking about? “I don’t understand, Sister.”
“My prayers are with you. Be strong.” Sister Max guided Eden inside and closed the door behind her.
In the smallish room where racks of choir robes and vestments were stored in plastic dry cleaners’ bags, the light came from a single forty-watt bulb. It wasn’t dark, but Eden squinted, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.
She focused on a rugged man in a worn brown leather bomber jacket. Every detail came into stark clarity. She noticed the shine on his oxblood loafers, the stitching on his jeans, the buttons on his white shirt, the slight bulge of his jacket concealing a shoulder holster. His jaw set hard as granite. His dark eyes shone with unspoken gravity. Lightly etched crow’s feet touched those eyes.
“Peter,” she whispered.
He looked older. His high cheekbones and jawline were more sharply chiseled. A touch of gray streaked his thick black hair.
She must be dreaming. He couldn’t be here. Peter Maggio was dead. He’d been dead for twelve years, the entire life span of their son.
“Candace,” he said.
“Eden,” she corrected automatically. Her heart beat fast, speeded by the pressure of a thousand emotions. It felt like her rib cage would explode. “Candace is dead. Like you. You’re dead.”
“I didn’t want to meet like this. I would have given you time to—”
“Stop!” The music of his voice was overwhelmed by a roaring in her ears. She’d lost her mind. Gone insane. “You’re dead.”
“Touch me.”
When his hand reached toward her, she shied away in horror. This handsome spectre might pull her into the grave beside him where they would rest together for all eternity. Too often she’d dreamed of such peace, being in Peter’s arms one more time. Forever. But she couldn’t leave her son to fend for himself. She had to protect Josh. For his sake, she had to stay alive.
The ghost stepped toward her, leaving the shadows.
“Keep away from me,” she gasped.
“Eden, it’s all right. I won’t hurt you.”
The glow of the forty-watt bulb glistened in his hair. She stared, incapable of absorbing the miracle that stood before her. He was here. Alive! Peter Maggio had returned from the grave. A miracle or a curse, she didn’t know which.
Eden closed her eyes. Her head whirled. Her knees went limp and she felt herself falling, falling into a bottomless abyss.
KNEELING BESIDE HER, Payne cradled her head against his arm. Though he hadn’t intended to shock her into a dead faint, he should have expected her reaction at coming face-to-face with a living, breathing ghost.
He should have asked Sister Max to prepare Candace, but there wasn’t time to gently ease her into acceptance. Too soon, his enemies would arrive for the funeral. Payne was investigating on his own, looking for proof to charge the corrupt agents who had killed Eddy and sabotaged Payne’s career. At the same time, he was on the run. His identity had been revealed to the Verones—the criminals he had secretly prosecuted so long ago. They wanted his blood.
Every minute Payne stayed in this church increased the odds against his survival, but he had desperately needed this time alone with the woman who had haunted his heart for twelve years. Candace Verone was the ghost, the vanished lover, the only woman he had ever truly cared for.
He stared into her face—a perfect oval, framed by the white headpiece of a novice nun. Her black eyebrows arched delicately over thick, sooty lashes. A stubborn jaw and a straight Roman nose lent character to her features. In her teens, she’d been adorable. Now, in the prime of her life, she was a breathtaking beauty.
Her lashes fluttered, her eyelids opened and she gazed dreamily, not yet fully conscious. Her full lips parted as if she were about to smile. He wanted to kiss those lips, to embrace her and pretend the last twelve years had never happened.
Her expression transformed. All gentleness left her face as she snapped, “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“Twelve years ago, you died.”
“I was shot and in the hospital for a week, but—”
“Basta!” Her hazel eyes flashed. Her beautiful lips compressed in a tight, angry line. “I should kill you myself. With these hands.”
“Candace, I tried—”
“Don’t call me that.” She shoved away from him with a wild flailing of arms and legs. “I’m Eden Miller now.”
“Fair enough.” He had a confession of his own. “And I’m not Peter Maggio. I never was. My real name is Payne Magnuson.”
“Pain?” she said, her voice rising on the single syllable. “Pain! How appropriate!”
She bolted to her feet. For a moment, she wobbled. Her hand rubbed against her forehead and she yanked off the wimple. Her fingers raked through her shoulder-length chestnut hair, streaked with blond highlights. Very sophisticated, Payne thought.
She glared at him. “Why are you smiling?”
“A
