Death Magic - By Eileen Wilks Page 0,2

silvery box on the dresser. Earrings were in the acrylic box next to it. Necklaces were in the hanging thingee in the closet. She dug into one of the hanging thingee’s pockets.

“A shooting range is a funny place to see a ghost, isn’t it?” She took out a double strand of small black beads. “And I’ve never seen one before, so I’m relying on hearsay about what ghosts look like.”

Rule came up behind her. “They’re usually bound to the place they died, aren’t they? I suppose people don’t die often at a shooting range.”

“Better not,” she said dryly. “Though they can also be tied to an object instead of a place, and some ghosts break the rules. Or so I’m told.” She considered the necklace, put it back, and took out a choker with polished wooden beads. “Fasten this for me?”

“No, not that one.” He plucked the choker from her fingers. “Maybe your ghost is tied to one of the guns at the range.”

“It’s not my ghost.” Lily had had a ghost, or something like a ghost—a part of her soul, anyway, from a Lily who’d died. A part she hadn’t really had access to for several months, but that was over. She was all together again. She frowned at Rule over her shoulder. “And I like that choker.”

“The wood is lovely against your skin, but you might want to try this on before you decide.” He slipped cool, slinky metal around her throat, his fingers brushing her nape.

Three tiers of delicate chain fringe in silver and brass cascaded in dainty splendor from her collar bones to the midpoint between her breasts. Three white stones studded the tiers. It was stunning and stylish and nothing she would have bought for herself—and not only because of the undoubtedly high price tag. Oversize necklaces were not for her. They made her look like a kid playing dress-up.

Not this one, though. This one was just right. She fingered one of the white stones and turned, tilting her face to look up into eyes the color of bittersweet chocolate. “Have I forgotten an occasion?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot our eleven-months-and-five-days anniversary.”

That made her grin. She went up on tiptoe—he was too tall, but she’d adjusted—and gave him a quick kiss.

At least she meant it to be quick. But there was the skin of his cheek, freshly shaved. The clean scent of his hair . . . Rule used baby shampoo because he disliked carrying artificial scents around on him all day. And that approving rumble in his chest, felt as much as heard, when she tasted him with her tongue.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you wear this without the sweater, bra, jeans—”

“But not, I think, at Ruben’s barbecue.”

He smiled, his eyes slumberous beneath the dark slashes of his brows. “Perhaps not.”

“Though it would make cleanup easy.” That made her think of Toby. Last month, Rule’s son had proposed a strategy to keep from getting food on his clothes: eat in his tighty whiteys. A little pang pinched at her. “Sometimes my job sucks.”

“I could have sworn you liked barbecue, I know you like Ruben, and since there’s nothing you could be except a cop, I’m not sure what about your job sucks for you right now.”

“I was wishing Toby could be here, or that we were back home.”

“Ah. Me, too.” This kiss was soft, consolation or appreciation, she wasn’t sure which. They lingered in the circle of each others’ arms, enjoying the moment. “I miss him, but your job isn’t the only thing dragging us to D.C. I received my own invitation.”

“Until we found out I had to testify, you were going to tell Senator Bixton to suck it.”

“I assure you, I never tell powerful senators to suck it.” He smoothed her hair, but his gaze snagged on his wrist, where he wore a watch worth more than Lily’s first car. “Scott hasn’t dinged me. I’d better see if . . .” He patted his pocket and frowned.

“Your phone’s downstairs on the dining table.”

“Thank you.” He started for the door.

“You aren’t going to turn into one of those men who can’t find his socks without help, are you?”

There came that grin again. “Wait and see.”

Lily shook her head and reached into the shoe bag for the flats she’d bought on sale last week back in San Diego. Back home.

D.C. wasn’t completely strange territory. She’d been here a few times since switching from a local cop to the federal version last year, including a stay