Secret Star Read Free Page A

on first thing in the morning.
    She’d enjoyed music, he mused, scanning the wireless speakers. He’d seen speakers in every room of the house, and there had been CDs, tapes, even old albums, tossed around the living area downstairs. She’d had eclectic taste there. Everything from Bach to the B-52s.
    Had she spent many evenings alone? he wondered. With music playing through the house? Had she ever curled up in front of that classy fireplace with one of the hundreds of books that lined the walls of her library?
    Snuggled up on the couch, he thought, wearing that little red robe, with her million-dollar legs tucked up. A glass of brandy, the music on low, the starlight streaming through the roof windows.
    He could see it too well. He could see her look up, skim that fall of hair back from that staggering face, curve those tempting lips as she caught him watching her. Set the book aside, reach out a hand in invitation, give that low, husky purr of a laugh as she drew him down beside her.
    He could almost taste it.
    Because he could, he swore under his breath, gave himself a moment to control the sudden up-beat of his heart rate.
    Dead or alive, he decided, the woman was a witch. And the damn stones, preposterous or not, only seemed to add to her power.
    And he was wasting his time. Completely wasting it, he told himself as he rose. He was covering ground best covered through rules and routine. He needed to go back, light a fire under the M.E., push for an estimated time of death. He needed to start calling the numbers in the victim’s address book.
    He needed to get out of this house that smelled of this woman. All but breathed of her. And stay out of it, he determined, until he was certain he could rein in his uncharacteristic imaginings.
    Annoyed with himself, irked by his own deviation from strict routine, he walked back through the bedroom. He’d just started down the curve of the stairs when a movement caught his eye. His hand reached for his weapon. But it was already too late for that.
    Very slowly, he dropped his hand, stood where he was and stared down. It wasn’t the automatic pointed at his heart that stunned him motionless. It was the fact that it was held, steady as a rock, in the hand of a dead woman.
    â€œWell,” the dead woman said, stepping forward into the halo of light from the foyer chandelier. “You’re certainly a messy thief, and a stupid one.” Those shockingly blue eyes stared up at him. “Why don’t you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put a hole in your head before I call the police?”
    For a ghost, she met his earlier fantasy perfectly. The voice was a purr, hot and husky and stunningly alive. And for the recently departed, she had a very warm flush of temper in her cheeks. It wasn’t often that Seth’s mind clicked off. But it had. He saw a woman, runway-fresh in white silk, the glint of jewels at her ears and a shiny silver gun in her hand.
    He pulled himself back roughly, though none of the shock or the effort showed as he met her demand with an unsmiling response. “I am the police.”
    Her lips curved, a generous bow of sarcasm. “Of course you are, handsome. Who else would be creeping around a locked house when no one’s at home but an overworked cop on his beat?”
    â€œI haven’t been a beat cop for quite some time. I’m Buchanan. Lieutenant Seth Buchanan. If you’d aim your weapon just a little to the left of my heart, I’ll show you my badge.”
    â€œI’d just love to see it.” Watching him, sheslowly shifted the barrel of the gun. Her heart was thudding like a jackhammer with a combination of fear and anger, but she took another casual step forward as he reached two fingers into his pocket. The badge looked real enough, she mused. What she could see of the identification with the gold shield on the flap that he held up.
    And she began to get a very bad feeling. A worse