Olivia’s fingers were curled around Sloan’s gun. She straightened her back, which was toward the killer. Not allowing any other part of her body to move, she slipped the gun into her fingers.

“No more cutesy little dart guns, Olivia. I have a Smith & Wesson trained on you now.”

Olivia stiffened, arching, trying to pretend she was giving up.

She managed to shove the gun under the waistband of her jeans. Then she rose slowly, just as she’d been ordered.

She was terrified. She was going to faint, her knees would give out.... Being afraid could make you smart; that was what Dustin had said.

She hoped the gun didn’t protrude from her belly—or that she wouldn’t shoot off the lower portion of her body.

A shot suddenly exploded over her head, and Olivia froze in shock.

“Just wanted you to know I have a real gun with real bullets.”

She turned to face the killer she should have known.

“Where are we riding to? And which horse am I taking? You nearly killed Shiloh.”

She was answered with a careless shrug. “I had to be sure you’d come here today. So...don’t worry. We have a number of horses to choose from. Let’s go.”

* * *

Dustin drove in the sheriff’s department car with Frank Vine and Jimmy Callahan.

Not one of his phone calls to the Horse Farm had been answered. Malachi and Abby were on their way and backup vehicles, including ambulances, were behind them.

“Explain this to me again,” Frank said to Callahan. “Damn you, Jimmy, why the hell didn’t you figure out what was going on?”

“How was I to know I was dating a maniac?” Callahan demanded. “Frank, we talked about family history. I thought it was really interesting that she could trace her history back so far, and I also suggested that maybe she should consider taking a job in Nashville when it was offered. She might have gotten one of those ghost tour shows—she might have gone really far. I had no idea that...that...whatever!”

They reached the Horse Farm; Dustin paid no heed to the arguing officers.

He saw the prone body of Sydney Roux in front of the house and rushed to him, crouching down to check for a pulse. It was faint. On the porch, he found Drew. He, too, was still alive.

As he rushed into the house, he saw that Jane was trying to help Sloan stagger to his feet.

“Dustin, they used the darts.... We were down.... Olivia... I think Olivia pulled the darts out of us,” Sloan said, and swore furiously.

“Whoever...came in from the back—none of the dogs barked,” Jane told him.

“Where is she? Where’s Olivia?”

“I don’t know. But the attack came from inside the house,” Sloan said. “And whoever it was took my gun...”

Dustin rushed out. Sloan and Jane came tearing after him, but as they arrived at the stables, Jane faltered.

Sloan stayed back to steady her. Dustin swung on both of them. “What’s the matter with you? You’re in no shape to be running around! Wait here—ambulances are on their way.” As he spoke, Malachi came driving in with Abby.

Frank left the stables and headed for Dustin, while Malachi and Abby ran to meet them.

“Two of the horses are gone,” Frank said breathlessly.

“Yeah, and we need to get going. Malachi, tell them—they’ve been hurt. They can’t come.”

Malachi pointed at Sloan and Jane. “You two—emergency attention,” Malachi said.

“Come on,” Dustin urged, “we’ve got to follow quickly. I can’t imagine what she’s planning for Olivia, but if she rode away with her, we’ve got a chance.”

Jimmy Callahan hurried to the stables. As Dustin followed, he heard movement in one of the stalls. He pulled his gun and whirled around.

It was Shiloh. The horse was back on its feet.

“Wait!” Malachi shouted.

Dustin turned to stare at him. “Look, we’re not talking about someone in her right mind here. And she’s just about gone over the edge while being in a desperate situation at the same time.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we have to be prepared to play mind games.”

“And do you have a suggestion?” Malachi demanded.

“I do,” Jimmy Callahan said, striding between them. “I do. Mariah is crazy about the history here—crazy about General Rufus Cunningham. She’ll say everyone sees him except her, but that she’s the one who deserves to know him. If you want—”

“Dammit, tell me what you’re talking about!” Dustin snapped.

“It’ll take another five minutes. Come with me. To Drew’s room. He’s involved with a reenactment group. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Dustin had no idea whether it was going to work or not; it might be his only chance. He was trying with all his might to think rationally, like an agent, and not like a man who felt he’d die if something happened to the woman he, yes, loved.

He looked at Malachi and remembered that he and Liv were cousins and that Malachi must be feeling as torn as he was.

“All right. I’ll do it. I’ve done a lot of reading on the general,” he said.

Five minutes later—as Jimmy had promised—he was ready.

Malachi and Abby were on their way out, while ambulances thronged the drive to the Horse Farm. Various deputies were mounted up and moving, and Chapparal had been saddled and bridled for him. He climbed on the horse and started to leave the stables.

“Whoa!” Malachi held up a hand. “Let’s divide the area into sections. We’ve got a lot of property to cover.”

Callahan was on Battle-ax. “The ravine?” he asked Dustin. “The ravine—where Marcus died?”

“Maybe. Frank, why don’t you take the ravine with some deputies. Malachi, you and Abby stay with me, but give me some space. I’m going to follow the trail to the campground.”

He galloped out of the stable on Chapparal and across the pastures.

If you were crazy and thought you had some kind of divine right to a piece of land—as well as the hereditary right to speak to a ghost—where would you go?

A cemetery.

* * *

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Olivia said. “You’re a good therapist, Mariah. And I always thought you loved what you did.”

“I’m an okay therapist,” Mariah told her. “You’re the great lover of the downtrodden, confused and drug-addicted. And, oh, yeah, they love you, too. You should see the disappointment on their faces when they find out they’re with Mason or me for the day. Now, what I am is a great historian. I can tell you everything about the occupation of Nashville. I can describe every Civil War battle in this state—oh, and I can tell you anything you want to know about Andrew Jackson.”

“I grew up in Nashville,” Olivia reminded her. She felt the gun inside her shirt and wondered if and when she’d get a chance to use it. During the ride they’d taken so far—running the horses hard most of the way—she’d had no opportunity.

Mariah was a good storyteller. She was also a skilled horsewoman. The entire way—gallop, trot, canter and walk—Mariah had kept the gun on her.

And Mariah knew a lot about marksmanship; she’d proven that.

“Yes, you grew up in Nashville. And your good-looking cousin is with the FBI. And you have a great house from your uncle, so naturally you just have to inherit another house from Marcus. And, of course, an agent comes out here with drop-dead looks and of course he immediately falls for you while... Never mind.”

“What do you mean, never mind?”

“Don’t pull any therapist bull on me, Olivia. You can’t analyze an analyzer.”

“Isn’t it more like you can’t con a con artist?” Olivia asked.

“Whatever. Give it up.”

“Okay. I take it you plan on killing me, although that’s pretty dumb. They’ll know it’s you.”

“They arrested Sandra Cheever.”

“And you think she’ll go down alone?”

“I’ll call her a liar. She had the motive. She was the one sleeping with Aaron.”

“But she’s in custody now, Mariah. She couldn’t have done this. People will arrive at the Horse Farm. They’ll find all the bodies you left strewn around—and they’ll realize I’m missing.”

“No one saw me. There are dozens of other people who might have done this,” Mariah said.

“You’re crazy. Aaron’s dead. Drew and Sydney are half-dead. Sandra is in custody and—”

“Mason is out there somewhere and, God knows, I’d implicate that crazy old broad at the café.”

“Key words, Mariah—crazy old broad at the café. She’s always working, always surrounded by witnesses. When could she have done any of this? But the point is, if you’re going to kill me... What started all this? Marcus was good to everyone. Why did you kill him?”

“I looked it up, Olivia. My great-great-great-grandfather was born on this land. I’m entitled to it. The Horse Farm had to fail.”

“So you could buy it?” Olivia asked incredulously.

“It’s really my land. I have the right to it. I shouldn’t even have to buy it—but I will.”

“It was Marcus’s family land—that’s how he got it,” Olivia said.

“Yeah, well, I went on one of those ancestry sites. And it led me back a bunch of generations. My great-great-whatever was Marcus’s great-whatever’s brother, which means I have just as much right to the land as he did. And then I wouldn’t have to be a so-so therapist. I’d get to be a great hostess for a haunted bed-and-breakfast, and every night I’d give history and ghost tours.”

“You’re crazy.”

“No.” She shook her head. “It should have been so simple. Everyone should just have said, oh, how sad. Marcus Danby became a heroin-whore again and it proves that the whole therapy thing was a pile of bullshit. It would’ve been simple as hell.”