"There's someone out there running all this, and I don't think he's as scary as he'd like to be. This is the second time he's used drugs. LSD on Green, and ether just now with Jessy. He hires guys with real muscle, but he goes one better and drugs his victims. He doesn't want to meet with resistance," Dillon said.

"Great. I need to look for a rich guy with a drug problem in Vegas. That narrows it down," Cheever said sarcastically.

"Bring in those limos," Dillon said. "And do it soon."

"What the h.e.l.l would I find in one of the limos at this point? Even if Tanner Green was was in one of them, any evidence would have been sanitized away by now," Cheever said. in one of them, any evidence would have been sanitized away by now," Cheever said.

"People miss things," Dillon reminded him.

Cheever stared at him. "You've been in at least one of those limos, haven't you?"

Dillon started to answer, but Cheever lifted a hand and cut him off. "Never mind. If you did something illegal, I don't want to know. Which limo am I tearing apart first? And what should I expect to find? In your educated opinion educated opinion, of course."

"A b.u.t.ton," Dillon said. "You know how easily b.u.t.tons fall off."

Cheever rose, setting his coffee cup down. "Thank you," he said to Sandra, and offered her his hand. "We haven't been introduced. I'm Jerry Cheever."

"Oh, sorry. Sandra Nelson. It's a pleasure-I think," she said.

"I'll get a car to keep an eye on Miss Sparhawk's place," Cheever said, turning to Dillon.

"She'll be with me," Dillon told him.

"Right. Well, I can get a car out here in-"

"That's not necessary. They're not going to come here, and even if they do, I have a few protective devices of my own."

Cheever groaned. "Yeah, I'm sure you do. Well, then, if you hear anything, call me..."

Sandra stood. "I have to get going, too. I have a teenager waiting for me," she explained to Dillon.

"We'll get you home," Dillon a.s.sured her.

"I can take you," Cheever said. "If you'd like."

"Yes." Sandra looked at Jessy, then walked over and reached for her hands. "You're sure you're okay? You know I'd stay, but Reggie will be home alone."

"Go. It's fine, honestly, and thank you."

Dillon and Jessy walked with Cheever and Sandra to the door, where Sandra paused to give Jessy a hug and look questioningly into her eyes one more time.

"Sandra!" Jessy laughed. "I'm fine, and I'll see you tomorrow."

Sandra and Cheever left at last, and Jessy and Dillon turned to look expectantly at each other. But before either of them could speak, they heard the clink of spurs.

Ringo walked into the entryway from the hallway that led to the bedrooms and office.

"Where have you you been?" they demanded in unison. been?" they demanded in unison.

"Sorry to be late, but I was following your man Green until I heard what was going on with Jessy," Ringo said. Hands on his hips, he stared at them for a minute, then shook his head in disgust that was clearly aimed at himself. "I thought it was important to know what he was doing when he wasn't stalking Jessy. And you-" He looked at Dillon. "You didn't tell me to stick with her like glue. You never said that."

Dillon gritted his teeth, seething with anger at himself. He'd known Jessy was in danger. He'd known it in his gut, and he had left her alone anyway.

It wouldn't happen again.

Jessy was staring at Ringo. "So-where did Tanner Green go?" she asked.

"Now, that's the odd thing," Ringo said. He walked over to the sofa and sat down comfortably, resting his arms on the back of the couch and resting one booted foot on the opposite knee. He stared at them for a long moment and then said, "The c.r.a.ps table."

"And...?" Dillon persisted. "What did he do at the c.r.a.ps table?"

"He watched it for a while. Didn't try to touch anything, didn't interfere. He just stared at it, looking really sad."

"And that's all he did?" Jessy asked.

Ringo shook his head. "After a while he went to the penthouse elevator. He couldn't make it work. Eventually one of Landon's people came down, and he got in when they got out. You need a key card to make it go up, though."

"Wait," Jessy said. "Tanner Green couldn't just...um, materialize up there?"

Ringo shrugged. "Green's only a novice ghost. He knows he's dead by now, but he hasn't accepted it, and he isn't dealing with it very well. I don't know what powers he's figured out yet. I know I wandered around Indigo for a few years before I even learned to travel any distance."

"So?" Dillon asked, interrupting impatiently. "What happened then?"

"He just stood there in the elevator. I think he sees me but doesn't trust me. Anyway, I hung with him a while, and then made my way back here. Turned on the television and saw what had happened, then heard you coming, so I turned off the television-and listened while you guys talked to that cop. I'm so sorry I wasn't there to help when you needed me, Jessy."

"You should have pushed the b.u.t.ton and followed him up to Landon's place," Dillon said.

"I told you. It needs a key card, and I didn't have one. The only way I've ever been up there was on my own power, and that wouldn't have helped Tanner any. Plus, with him refusing to see me, I couldn't explain to him how to get up there."

"Right, sorry," Dillon said.

"Whatever Landon is up to, he's careful. I didn't see anything but business going on in that suite when I was up there," Ringo said. "I may not be much of a spy, but I am am a d.a.m.n good ghost." He looked at Jessy. "And I'll prove it to you. I won't leave your side again until this whole mess is over." a d.a.m.n good ghost." He looked at Jessy. "And I'll prove it to you. I won't leave your side again until this whole mess is over."

"It's all right, Ringo," Dillon said. "I plan to be with Jessy."

"You can't be with her all the time," Ringo said, then looked at them and started laughing. "Okay, let's not go that route again. I don't intrude in the bedroom or the outhouse. But I'll be with you everywhere else, and I won't fail you."

"Maybe Green was in the suite before he died. Drinking spiked drinks with his boss before going for a ride," Dillon said.

"Maybe, maybe, maybe-we need something that isn't maybe!" Jessy said forcefully, then looked at Dillon. "I need fresh clothes and some dinner," she told him, smiling suddenly, as if she hadn't been in mortal danger just a few hours earlier.

She stopped speaking and stared across the room, then said softly, "Dillon, look."

He turned. Fading in and out as he sat in one of the wingback chairs by the fire was Tanner Green.

"It's all right, Mr. Green. Please, don't leave," Jessy entreated.

Dillon kept his own voice low and calm, "Tanner, we're trying to help you. Everyone in this room wants to help you."

But Tanner Green faded away, despite their pleas. They all stared at the chair as the seconds ticked by, but Tanner didn't reappear.

"Why won't he stay?" Dillon murmured.

"He's trying. It's just not as easy as you'd think," Ringo said.

Clancy woofed suddenly, and Dillon frowned, listening. Finally he heard what the dog had already sensed: a car coming down the street and pulling up in front of the house.

In the police car, Sandra tried to pull herself together, but she couldn't help feeling as if she'd let Jessy down.

"It's all right, Ms. Nelson," Cheever said when she confessed her guilt to him. "No one can know ahead of time that this kind of thing is going to happen."

"I should have been with her," Sandra said.

"Think about it. Even if you'd been there, what chance would two women have had against two trained thugs?"

"It's just all such a mess. I mean, poor Jessy. First a guy just ups and dies on her, and now she's in danger herself," Sandra said.

"You've got to stop worrying or you're going to make yourself sick. Dillon's with her, and he seems pretty capable of protecting her. Now, how about some directions so I can get you home?"

She looked at the cop. He came on as gruff, but he had spoken so gently just now.

"I'm over in Henderson. Just hop on the highway, and I'll show you where to get off," Sandra said. "And thank you. My girl is pretty grown-up, but I don't like to leave her alone at home too late." She sighed. "You just never know what can happen."

"You sound like a good parent," Cheever said approvingly.

"She's everything to me," Sandra told him. "What about you? Your job is pretty dangerous, huh."

He shrugged, and a slight smile crossed his face. "Not so dangerous. Narcotics, now, that's that's dangerous. Drug lords and junkies. Those folks are scary. In homicide-well, by the time I get to them, they're not going to hurt me." dangerous. Drug lords and junkies. Those folks are scary. In homicide-well, by the time I get to them, they're not going to hurt me."

"That's not true," Sandra warned. "The victims may be dead, but whoever killed them is still out there. Take this case. Whoever killed Tanner Green is still out there and going after Jessy."

He cast her a glance. "Are you an entertainer, too, Ms. Nelson?"

"Call me Sandra, please. And I was, but now I'm a writer. Which I guess means I'm still an entertainer, in a way." She pointed to a sign along the highway. "There...Take this exit."

"So are you...still married?" Cheever asked.

"No, not anymore. What about you?"

Cheever shook his head. "Believe it or not, dating is not such a breeze when you're a homicide cop. Go figure."

"The right person will come along for you, Detective. I'm certain," she a.s.sured him. "There, that's my house on the right."

Cheever pulled up in front of the pleasant little ranch-style dwelling she'd pointed to. "I'll see you into the house," he told her.

She smiled. "Thanks."

She got out of the car, glad that he was staying until she'd locked the door behind her.

"Reggie?" she called as she opened the door.

"In here, Mom, on the computer!" Reggie called.

Sandra thanked Cheever for the ride, then leaned back against the newly locked door. She was still worried sick about Jessy, but at least Jessy had Dillon now. Reggie was her world. And Reggie was safe. Life was good.

Timothy lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. This had been a good day. He enjoyed spending time with Mrs. Teasdale. True, she needed her medications, but she was bright and her mind was still clear, and she made him feel young again. Not this week, but soon, one day when Jessy was free, they would plan their trek out to the reservation.

For now, he was feeling fine. Usually everyone, even Jessy, did nothing more than humor him when he talked about the people in the wall.

But today...

Today Dillon Wolf had come by to see him, looking so much like the man in the image the ghosts in the wall kept showing him.

Right now, Billie Tiger was up on the ceiling. At first Timothy had seen only the patterns in the plaster. Then, as they always did, they began to take shape, almost as if there was a movie playing on the ceiling.

Billie Tiger was a handsome man with his feathered headpiece and clothes in traditional bright Seminole colors. His skin was deep brown, in color, and he had large almond-shaped eyes.

"Brother Hawk," he said gravely to Timothy.

"Tiger," Timothy returned.

"The time grows near, the time when times collide," Tiger said. "They are gathering, but I have not seen the men at the door, the men who come with evil purpose, driven by greed, who care not what danger they bring to others." Tiger's voice faded, and the movie began. Timothy saw the dusty roads of an old ghost town. He saw the buildings, faded almost to the color of the sand. Timothy felt as if he were there, as if he were walking down those streets. He strode along a wooden sidewalk toward the swinging doors of the saloon. He pushed them open, and then he was inside. A man was playing the piano, and when Timothy sat down next to him, it was as if he somehow slid into the body of the other man. The keys felt so real beneath his fingers. There was a woman standing at his side, leaning against the piano. She was pretty, but she would have been prettier if she hadn't looked so tired and worn. She began to sing, but it was clear that her heart wasn't in it. Once, when she'd been young and filled hope, she had probably sung in a rich soprano. She might even have smiled back then, and her smile would have lit up a room. But she was tired, he knew, and so was he. They had both been in Indigo too long.

He turned and saw the bartender wiping down the bar with a rag, while several patrons were pouring whiskey down their gullets, neat.

He looked around and saw the poker players. John Wolf had a quiet strength that marked him as a leader, though he wasn't a chief. He was a half-breed, a man who had learned that he would never be accepted in either world and had become stronger from having to make his own way in the world. If anyone could save Indigo, it was John Wolf.

All this he knew because, in some strange way he was not only himself but the piano player. And as the piano player, he knew he had a Lakota wife and three children, and that his oldest son had a white wife who hadn't wanted to stay in Indigo. The two of them had set up housekeeping on a patch of land closer to the river. They were near the bigger town of White Rock but still near a reservation, and they were somehow managing to straddle the line between those two worlds, heedless of the slights some cast their way, in love despite them. That was the definition of hope, he thought. Hope also resided in John Wolf because Wolf had returned from the territorial capital earlier that day, and something had happened there, something Wolf wasn't talking about but that had clearly given himself a sense of power that practically radiated from him. And now Wolf was waiting, waiting for Varny, but also waiting for someone else. Mariah. He had something to tell her, he'd said, and he wasn't going to tell anyone else. Clearly it was connected to the business he'd transacted in the capital. And as he waited, his guns were always within reach. He was a man of peace, but he knew how to shoot.

The other players at the table were the sheriff, Grant Percy, who wanted to be brave but had already been cowed by the man whose malignant presence had infected the whole town. Frank Varny ruled Indigo. He'd used money to bribe and to bully until he'd created a gang of men to do his bidding, and from the labor-even the deaths-of others, he had created his own kingdom. But if money had built him up, then money could also bring him down.

And he knew it.

The town idiot was at the poker table, too.

Mark Davison was a buffoon. He had cast his lot with Varny as soon as he came to town. He swaggered and pretended to be brave, but at heart he was a coward.

Then there was Ringo Murphy. Freewheeling, and too young to know that confidence and a sense of one's own immortality wasn't always enough to combat the power of greed and evil. Ringo thought he'd seen it all. He'd fought in the war. He'd watched everything he'd known and loved go up in ashes. He thought his weariness was a bulletproof cloak, but it was not.

The saloon doors suddenly burst open. A man stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the setting sun. Just the dark figure of a man, nothing more, and still he was somehow the epitome of evil.