She'd seen him at dinner-that had been after his text-and he hadn't said anything. He hadn't even sat with her; instead he'd grabbed his dinner and left.

Still a bit worried, but not knowing if he'd still be awake, she texted him back. What's up?

She waited up for a good forty-five minutes to see if he would text her back. Nothing.

Frustrated, she flopped back on her pillow. The ghostly chill waved through the room for about the third time since she'd come to bed, but the spirit didn't stay.

Kylie's conversation with Holiday this afternoon added merit to her feelings. If she could just figure out the spirit's identity, it might help to answer a lot of questions.

While the spirit hadn't confirmed it, Kylie was almost certain the ghost was connected to Mario.

"Who are you?" Kylie asked the wisp of cold moving like a quick shadow in the room. "Tell me. Or at least show me something."

No answer came. Accepting that no spirit spoke before they were ready, Kylie rolled over and tried to sleep. Tried to think about something other than the ghost.

Anything other than killing someone.

Anything other than dying.

Anything other than Lucas and the hope she'd seen in his eyes.

Sleep had just about lured her in when she heard a slight noise. Footsteps on the wood floor. She opened her eyes and reached under her pillow for the sword.

Under her pillow? She didn't sleep with the sword.

Instinctively, she knew they were coming after her.

Who was coming for her?

Something wasn't right. Yet Kylie pulled out the weapon and lunged out of bed. Her feet landed on carpet. She looked down at the Oriental rug. Plush. Expensive.

Where was she?

Or a better question was: Who was she?

Heart pounding at the sound of the approaching footsteps, she looked around the room. A bedroom. Not Kylie's bedroom.

Heavy, expensive-looking wood furniture glistened from the little moonlight filtering through a large bay window that looked out at palm trees.The taste of fear and fury lingered on her tongue. She raised her sword. Only to realize it wasn't the sword that had been delivered to her, but the sword of ...

Everything made sense now. She was the spirit and she was in a vision. She spotted a heavy framed mirror over a dresser. For a flicker of a second, she stared at the image. Her dark hair hung loose, uncombed.

But causing Kylie's first stirring of panic was the gown. The one the spirit had obviously been wearing when she'd been murdered.

And Kylie was going to live it. Her first impulse was to scream out "Hell, no." Her second was to be aware, to find the answers she needed.

The thundering of footsteps drew closer, thudding as if climbing old wooden steps. Instinctually, Kylie knew that the spirit had expected her attackers. She had known that the night would bring her death. She'd chosen to wear white, yet had questioned if the sign of purity would do her any good.

Now as she waited for the end to draw near, a surge of regret, remorse for the life she had lived, crossed her mind. But deep down she accepted it was too late. Too late to change how she'd lived. But she could and would change how she died.

Who are you? The question whispered through Kylie's mind. She prayed the answer would make itself clear so she could leave this vision before she had to live this woman's death.

The spirit looked to the window almost as if considering escape. Get out, Kylie told her. You don't have to die.

Even before the thought was complete, Kylie knew the actions of the spirit on this eve of her death had already been written. Kylie had not been brought inside the body, or the memory, to change what was.

She'd been brought here to live it.

To learn the truth.

What truth? Why hadn't the spirit left? Kylie sensed that leaving had been an option. The spirit had chosen to die. For what cause?

"Mama." The young boy ran through the door.

"He found us." His eyes rounded with fear and tears. "He found us. Now what do we do?"

She grabbed the boy by his shoulders. The spirit wanted to embrace him, to bury her face in his hair so she could die with the smell of her only son still filling her senses. But time had run out. She pushed him into the closet. "Use the trapdoor like I showed you. Run and don't look back." She shut the closet door at the same time the bedroom door crashed open.

Chapter Thirty-four

The woman, with Kylie living inside her, turned to fight. Not because she thought she could win, but for the little time her son would need to escape. She knew she would die, but it was for her son.

They moved in. There were three of them. They wore black, no masks, and she recognized them.

Knew them well.

Had eaten at their tables.

Laughed at their jokes.

She also recognized the look in their eyes, the drive to complete a job. Killing her was their duty.

She raised her sword and fought. Fought for her son. For a few seconds, she actually bested them, blocked their attempts to draw blood. No one could say she had gone down easy.

The first piercing pain went into her ribs. Kylie screamed for it to stop. She tried to tell herself it wasn't real, that it wasn't her, but it felt real. She felt the pain the spirit had felt those last horrific moments of her life.

Felt their weapons slashing into her skin, hitting bone.

Her body grew limp, the pain too much. She dropped to her knees and fell forward to the floor. Her own blood oozed out. The thick flow of fluid warmed the sudden chill. She didn't fight it. She willed the blood to flow faster. The faster it flowed, the less she hurt.