Page 39 of It'll Always Be Her

He looked up at the sudden noise, expecting to see Bee returning. But the basement was still empty, the narrow staircase darkened with shadows. A shiver ran down his spine.

Idiot.

Laughing at himself, he put the photo he was holding back in the drawer and took the gloves off. He dropped them into a tray markedUsed Glovesand left the archive room, turning off the lights and closing the door behind him.

Clunk.

The noise was coming from the storage room. He switched on his flashlight, slanting his gaze at the old furniture. He hoped the library didn’t have a problem with mice, though he wouldn’t be surprised. Isolated on its own plot of land near the forest, the Gardenia House would be a haven for any number of woodland creatures.

He took hold of the door handle and started to shut it when his gaze passed over the portrait of the elder Marcus brother. The man looked out of the frame, his eyes steady and direct. For a strange instant, he appeared to be staring right at Adam.

What the…?

Adam shook his head. Talk about needing to get a damn grip.

As he started to close the storage room door, his peripheral vision caught a sudden movement in the old mirror. He spun toward it, his heart hitching, but his own reflection looked back at him.

With a mutter of irritation, he closed the door with a snap and walked to the stairs. He could easily explain the falling books and electric shock that had stopped him from touching Bee.

And he’d never been caught off guard by a strange noise or movement—usually because he was expecting them in these so-called haunted sites. And he always knew they were caused by someone trying to spook the show’s host and crew.

He frowned. Bee had left the basement less than an hour ago. Though he found it nearly impossible to believe she was a hoaxer, she had a strong motivation for needing her library to get thehexedstamp of approval from Clyde and the producers.

He took the stairs two at a time and veered toward the circulation desk. Light glowed from a computer monitor on a desk behind the counter, and Bee stood in front of it, her gaze intent on the screen and her hand on the mouse.

Adam was just about to say her name when he caught sight of what she was looking at on the screen. A dozen images ofmen.

Young men. Good-looking men. All smiling at the camera as if they were auditioning for jobs as toothpaste models.

Adam stopped a distance behind her. His hands curled into fists. She clicked on the image of a blond guy, and another page appeared with more pictures and a bunch of typewritten paragraphs.

Probably crap like,My name is Todd. I like sunsets and long walks in the rain. I’m seeking a partner in life and love—

“Adam.”

He started at Bee’s voice, smothering the anger flaring to life inside him like the strike of a match. “What?”

“I asked if you needed something.” She looked at him with raised eyebrows. She’d also moved in front of the monitor, blocking it from his view.

Irritation tensed his spine. “Did you use speakers? Or convey the sound through the heating vents? It didn’t sound like the house settling, more like metal against wood, so maybe it was a pipe of some kind? Please don’t tell me you’re planning to rattle chains next.”

She blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“The noise in the basement.” He folded his arms, narrowing his gaze on her. “How’d you do it?”

“You heard a noise?” Excitement sparked in her eyes. “Where did it come from?”

“The storage area with the house furnishings.” He debated telling her about the movement in the mirror reflection, then dismissed the idea. If it happened again, he’d call her out, but right now, he’d put it down to overkill. “You’ll save us both a lot of time if you stop the so-called tricks right now.”

She stared at him. “Wait a minute. You think I…?”

Her voice trailed off, and she suddenly laughed her little soap-bubble laugh again.

“What am I saying?” She shook her head, almost speaking to herself. “Of course you think I’m behind it. That’s your default, isn’t it? Well, I have news for you, Adam Powers.”

She stepped toward him, reaching out a forefinger to poke him in the chest. “What you heard was likely the presence of Captain John Marcus’s ghost. I know you really don’t want to believe that, and given your scientific background, I might even understand why, but accusing me of staging the evidence will get you nowhere.”

She strode past him, flicking her fingers to indicate he should follow her.

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