"I need some sleep, Lisa. Sorry."

Lisa muttered a nasty word and curled on her side away from him. Zach lay there in bed, but as tired as he was, he couldn't fall asleep.

On Sat.u.r.day morning, Zach drove out to Teen Vision. The barn was really coming along and just looking at how well their hard work was paying off made him itch to strap on his carpenter's belt and start hammering nails again.

The boys were already at work, had been since early that morning. The fifteen-acre youth farm grew a variety of crops that took a lot of effort to maintain. Peaches, apricots, oranges, lemons, almonds and pistachios were cultivated in the orchard. There were five acres of alfalfa to help feed the cattle.

The boys kept a large vegetable garden and grew enough corn to sell in local grocery stores. They raised chickens, had four cows in their dairy, along with four white-faced cattle they raised for meat. The farm was nearly self-sufficient, and the boy's successful operation of such a place gave them a great deal of pride.

Along with their daily ch.o.r.es, they attended a variety of cla.s.ses, a number dealing with information on the consequences of drug and alcohol abuse. Zach lectured on those subjects several times a year and discovered that being honest about his past gave him a special rapport with the boys.

After his last session, Raul Perez had stayed after cla.s.s to talk to him. He wanted to know if Zach believed Raul might be able to get into college after he got his GED.

"I think you'd have a very good chance, Raul. It would take a lot of hard work, but anything's possible. I can tell you that first hand."

Raul smiled. It was obvious the idea of hard work didn't bother him. Zach thought that Liz Conners might be right about the kid. There did seem to be something special about him, though Zach couldn't quite nail down what it was.

As he got out of the Jeep, he spotted the boy walking through the pasture, a big tough-looking kid, hard-edged until you dug a little deeper. Then you saw the same kind of need Zach had felt as a boy, the longing to have someone care about you.

Zach knew the kid had no father and lost his mother just as he entered his teens. His sister and her husband were the only family Raul had.

Zach had parents. Sort of. But Teresa Burgess, his mother, had been too busy keeping Fletcher Carson happyat least in the beginningto worry much about her son. Zach had been nine when his parents had ended their longtime relationship and his father had demanded custody of his son.

Teresa had agreedfor a price. She'd sold him like a hunk of meat for a new car and the t.i.tle to the small house Fletcher had provided for her and Zach. His father had taken him home to live in the big house on Harcourt Farms, but instead of a blessing, it was the beginning of a life in h.e.l.l.

Zach continued walking, heading for the maintenance shed to retrieve his carpenter's belt, and Raul started walking his way.

"Need some help?" the boy asked.

"I thought you were feeding the cattle."

"Already done. The dairy cows, too. I'm pretty good with a hammer."

He was pretty good at everything around the farm, Zach had noticed. And he actually seemed to enjoy the hard work.

"All right, good. The more help we've got, the quicker we get this thing finished. Sam wants to get the alfalfa under cover by the time summer's over."

"Sounds like a good idea." Following Zach into the shed, Raul retrieved another belt, nails and a hammer, and they started toward the barn. For a moment, Raul's steps slowed, his gaze going over the fields to the bright patches of color on the other side.

"What is it?"

"The roses. They are so beautiful this time of year."

Six hundred and forty acres of lush, Harcourt Farms roses bloomed in the fields that began at the edge of the property belonging to Teen Vision. From the air, the ground was awash with an incredible array of yellow, flame, red, pink, white and a spread of variegated blossoms. From May through September, when the breeze blew across the fields, the soft scent of roses filled the air.

Zach had always loved the fragrance. Maybe there were two good things about San Pico.

Eight.

Maria couldn't sleep. Miguel was working late again and the house felt oddly empty. She had made a few women friends since she had lived at Harcourt Farms but most of them moved on when the workers headed off for their next job. Her best friend was a girl named Isabel Flores, who worked for Mr. Harcourt and lived in the big house on the farm. Though she was only a few years older than Maria, she was Mr. Harcourt's housekeeper. She took care of his house and other of his personal needs.

Isabel had told her that she liked working there, that Mr. Harcourt took very good care of her. She didn't mind his occasional visits to her bed. In fact, she enjoyed them. And she was careful, she said. Though she had to confess her sin at church on Sunday mornings, she took birth control pills so she wouldn't get pregnant with his child.

Propped against the headboard in bed, Maria considered getting dressed again and going over to see Isabel tonight. She would tell her best friend what had been happening to her, talk to her about the tests she had taken, the sessions she'd had with Dr. James. But it was really too late for a visit and Miguel would be home soon.

At least she hoped he would be. She thought about returning to the living room to watch a little more TV, but she was tired. When she had returned from her session with Dr. James, she had worked in the vegetable garden, and the heat had exhausted her even more than she had been already. Now it was late and she was sleepy.

She settled lower in the bed, pulling the sheet up beneath her chin, telling herself that now that she understood more about what was happening to her, the dream would not come again. She closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep, but the minutes ticked past and sleep remained elusive.

Instead, she waited, listening for the sound of Miguel's work boots on the steps outside the back door. More minutes pa.s.sed. Slowly, her eyelids began to droop. Her body relaxed against the mattress and she slipped into sleep.

It was the cold that awakened her, an icy chill that seeped into her bones like death in a crypt. Even this late, it was almost ninety degrees outside. How could it be so cold in the bedroom? Her teeth began to chatter. She pulled the sheet up over her, reached down for the thin yellow quilt, folded across the foot of the bed.

Her fingers wrapped around the fabric tightly. For the first time, she noticed the sounds the eerie moaning, the creak and groan like someone walking on the boards in the living room. The fragrance of roses drifted toward her. The odor thickened, grew more dense, turned harsh and cloying, filling her nostrils, burning her throat.

She swallowed, sat there in the bed afraid to move, her fingers frozen around the top of the quilt. Her gaze drifted there, down to the foot of the bed, and her whole body tightened. There was something there, a cloudy, milky image she could see through but not clearly, something with the vague shape of a person.

They'll take your baby if you don't leave. They'll kill your baby.

Maria whimpered. Dios mio! Gooseflesh rose over her skin and her hand started shaking, her knuckles going pale as she gripped the quilt.

They'll take your baby. They'll kill your baby if you don't leave.

She closed her eyes but the image remained, frozen there, behind her quivering eyelids. A child, maybe eight or nine years old, hovering, floating above the floor at the foot of the bed, a little girl, she thought from the sound of the voice, but she couldn't be sure.

It is not real, she told herself, repeating what Dr. James had said. It is only in your mind.

She whispered a silent prayer, told herself to will the image away, and kept her eyes tightly closed for as long as she dared. She repeated the prayer, whispering frantically to the Blessed Virgin, and when she opened her eyes, she saw that her prayer had been answered.

The eerie sounds slowly melted into silence. Little by little, the harsh smell faded, turning softer, no longer strong, but delicate, almost soothing. The icy chill was gone from the room and the temperature returned to normal.

But her heart still frantically pounded, slamming against her ribs, and her hands felt clammy, her mouth bone-dry. She shifted fearfully on the bed as another sound reached her ears, a familiar shuffling on the back porch stairs, then the smooth glide of the key sliding into the lock.

Miguel was home.

Maria closed her eyes and bit down on her trembling lips, determined not to weep.

Michael James sat behind his desk, listening to the wild tale told by the young Hispanic woman sitting across from him. He had seen Maria Santiago twice this week, but neither of the sessions had proved particularly successful.

"I saw it, Dr. James. Last night, I saw the ghost. Un espectro. I am not imagining it. I saw it with my own two eyes."

"It wasn't a ghost, Maria. There is no such thing. What happened is that you suffered an anxiety attack. It's not uncommon. A lot of people at some time in their lives have experienced panic attacks. Normally, I'd have something prescribed for you, a mild dose of Xanax to help you relax along with some Ambien to help you sleep, but with the baby so far along"

"I do not need your drugs! There is a ghost in my house and all of the foolish questions you keep asking me are not going to make it go away!"

He kept his voice steady and calm. "There are reasons for the questions, Maria. We're working to explore your past. We need to discover if something happened to you during your childhood, something that might not seem important, but is. In cases like these"

"No! You ask about my father. Did he love me? Did I love him? I tell you he left when I was two years old. You ask about my mother. I tell you she loved me and Raul. We had no money and life was hard, but it was not so bad. You tell me I must be worried, feeling this thing you call stress, but I am saying that Miguel and me, we are excited about the baby. Until all of this started, I have never been so happy. You say that I am afraid of something I don't understand and you are right!"

Her hand clenched into a fist in her lap. "There is a ghost in my house and it is telling me to leave. It is warning me that someone is going to kill my baby!"

Michael took a long, deep breath and released it slowly. "There. Perhaps you have just hit on the answer to your problem. You're worried about losing the child. You've lost a baby before. Perhaps fear for the child you carry is what's causing your anxiety."

Maria stood up from her chair. He could see that she was trembling. "You don't believe me. I knew that you would not." She turned and started walking toward the door, her belly making her sway a little as she moved.

Michael stood up behind his desk. "Maria, wait a minute. We need to talk about this."

She just kept walking, making her way across the small reception area, over to the desk. Michael got up and followed her through the door.

"I wish to speak to Ms. Conners. Tell her tell her Maria Santiago would like to see her."

"She's just finishing a session," the receptionist, Terry Lane, told her. "She should be opening her door any minute."

"Fine. I will wait." She sat down heavily on the sofa, her back broomstick straight, chin thrust out.

It was only an instant later that Elizabeth's door opened and a blond woman and a teenaged girl walked out of the office. Elizabeth followed them into the reception area.

"All right, then. I'll see you both next week."

The woman, about forty with frazzled blond hair, just nodded. She motioned for her daughter to leave and both of them headed for the door.

Elizabeth's gaze lit on Maria, standing next to Terry's desk. Michael stood patiently waiting.

"Mrs. Santiago would like to talk to you," Terry told her. Terry was young, in her twenties, with short, spiky blond hair. She had only been working at the clinic for a couple of weeks, and Michael could see she was a bit unnerved.

"That's right, Elizabeth," Michael said from his open doorway. "Maria has something she wants to tell you."

Elizabeth flicked him a glance, caught his silent appeal for help. Sometimes it was difficult to win a patient's trust and obviously Maria trusted Elizabeth, not him. Michael had considered advising Elizabeth to counsel the girl, but anxiety was more his field of expertise, and they were afraid Elizabeth's relationship with Maria was too close for her to be completely objective.

Elizabeth smiled at Maria. "I've got a few extra minutes. I'll be happy to help in any way I can."

"Why don't we all go back into my office?" Michael suggested, then waited as the women filed past him into the room. They sat down in chairs on the opposite side of his desk, Elizabeth a.s.sessing the girl with obvious concern.

"Tell her, Maria. Tell Ms. Conners the story you told me."

"It is not a story," Maria said defensively. "Mi casa es encantada."

Elizabeth's blue eyes widened, though she kept her features carefully bland. "I thought we discussed this before, Maria. Surely you don't really believe your house is haunted."

"But I do. There es un espectro. Last night I saw it."

"Last night you saw a ghost?"

"Si, that is right. It was small like a child. It sounded like a little girl, but I could not tell for sure. The air was freezing cold and I heard the noises. And there was that same sickening-sweet smell. I am not making it up."

Elizabeth flicked Michael a glance and seemed to consider her reply. "If you are that convinced something happened, then perhaps there is another explanation. Maybe the house is just getting older, making different noises than you're used to. Maybe the smell is something that has died under the house."

"I would like to believe it is something like that, but I do not. I only know that something terrible is happening and I am afraid."

Elizabeth said nothing more and neither did Michael. In all his numerous cases, he had never had to deal with a ghost, but he could see that Maria was truly afraid.

"Perhaps I should speak to Miguel," Elizabeth suggested. "He could investigate, see what might be causing you all of this worry."

Maria's eyes widened in panic. "You must not tell my husband. Miguel will not understand. He will think I am being childish. That is what he says whenever we disagree."

Michael leaned across his desk. "Listen, Maria, you can't go on like this. You need to talk to your husband. I need to speak to him, as well."

Maria shot up from her chair. "No! You think to ask him the same stupid questions you asked me. Well, nothing he says will make any difference. You are wrong about thisboth of you. And I am not imagining things."

Whirling away, she moved clumsily toward the door.

"Maria!" Elizabeth went after her and Michael let them go. There was nothing more he could donot until the girl was ready to face her problems and accept his help.

He could only hope that Elizabeth would be able to make her see reason and she would return. Until then, Maria was destined to suffer her ghosts.

Friday. Another week in L.A. Another hot July day in the valley. Zach usually drove down after work on Friday night. The case he'd been working on, a lawsuit against a company that produced a drug called Themoziamine, took hours of investigation and planning. But the traffic going over the hill into the San Fernando Valley was murder. He'd worked late all week so that today he could take off early.

The trip had been relatively easy, since he'd gotten on the road at a reasonable time, but it was already hot in San Pico. He swung his brown Jeep Cherokee off Willow Road into the parking lot of the Willow Glen Retirement Home and pulled the car into one of the parking s.p.a.ces. The asphalt was so hot he could see ripples of heat coming up off the pavement.

He climbed out of the car, took a breath of the burning air and started toward the front door of the main building, a light brown two-story stucco structure. As he walked along, hot air enveloped him. d.a.m.n, he was glad he no longer lived in San Pico.

He had almost reached the edge of the parking lot when his gaze caught on a late model, pearl-white Acura a few s.p.a.ces down from his. Liz Conners drove a car like that. He had seen it the day she came out to tour Teen Vision.

He wondered if the Acura might be Liz's and picked up his pace, walking faster than he usually did toward the sterile, white-walled room occupied by his father. Seeing the old man lying there staring at the ceiling, or slumped in his wheelchair, always depressed him. But the doctors still held out a small degree of hope that one day he might improve, and either way, Zach wasn't about to abandon him.

He pulled open the heavy front door and stepped into the air-conditioning, grateful for the burst of cool air against his face. Since he came out to the home whenever he was in town, the receptionist, a small, dark-haired woman with gla.s.ses, recognized him.

She smiled. "Hi, Zach. Don't forget to sign in."

"I won't. Thanks, Ellie." He penned his name and the date and started across the well-appointed lobby down the hall, pa.s.sing a long line of rooms filled with the elderly. The place was very nice, compared to the kind of rest homes he had read about. No more than two occupants to a room, some of them private, like his father's. After the terrible fall Fletcher Harcourt had suffered, he'd been brought to Willow Glen to recover as soon as he'd been released from the hospital.

Zach had wanted him to have in-home nursing so that he could live in his own house, but Carson believed he should stay in the nursing home where he could receive more professional care. Since Carson was the eldest, according to provisions in their father's will, he was named conservator of all of Fletcher Harcourt's holdings, including the farm and any decisions to do with his health care.

Zach had argued, but Carson had the final say, and their dad had stayed in the home.

Just one more thing to dislike about his brother.

Zach made his way along the hall, glancing into the rooms along the way, until he came to C-14 in the west wing. He recognized the woman walking out of a room just a few doors down and paused there in the hall.