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the desk and swabbed her hands over her face. Her gaze lingered over the boxes of records as if she was studying her options. “I’m going find out what happened to you.”
    Suddenly his number one goal didn’t seem that vital anymore. “Why don’t you just call it a day? You look a little tired.”
    “There you go again.” She waggled her finger at him. “Trying to distract me.”
    “Well, you may not be tired,” he said, “but I sure am, see.”
    “You get tired?”
    “Well, yes.” Especially when he had to deal with exasperating ghost-busters. He also regretted being the cause of her pain. That was a first.
    He’d reveal his weakness if he didn’t disappear soon. Jack hadn’t experienced emotion in such a long time and he’d forgotten that he couldn’t handle it. He’d rather lie than admit the truth. If she knew his Achilles' heel, it might give her an edge. And that could send him packing.
    He wasn’t ready to go anywhere just yet. Not permanently anyway. Still, he found her company agreeable and was already looking forward to their next encounter.
    Regrettably, he faded from sight.

CHAPTER 4
    CHEATER . Miffed at his ability to disappear—a trait Izzy longed for—she grunted and barged across the office. She eased down onto the lumpy cot and settled in, quietly scolding herself for letting her target get to her.
    Boy, she’d done it this time, allowing a spirit to delve into her deepest, darkest anxieties. Why did she find this man so infuriating—and totally attractive?
    Attractive ? She ordered the notion from her thoughts. He’s a spirit for Crissakes !
    Thoughts of her mother took shape inside her mind. She'd missed her in the days, weeks, and years following her death. Aunt Marilyn, her mother's sister, had taken Izzy in and raised her as if she were her own, despite the suggestion that Marilyn, a single gal, should drop her at the local orphanage.
    Marilyn hadn't seen it that way, and Izzy was grateful. Still, a part of Izzy had died with her parents, and it left a void no one, not even a loving aunt, could replenish.
    Several minutes passed, perhaps an eternity, while Izzy’s thoughts bobbled around, bouncing between her mother, Aunt Marilyn, and Jack...right up until the dream world swallowed her up.
    T he scent of gardenias filled the air, waking Izzy. Excited by the fragrance, she fluttered her eyes open to the familiarity of a dimly lit room. Her mother had been here in the last dream and Izzy shifted her gaze around in search of Cynthia Miller.
    Her mommy —young and beautiful as ever—appeared in the corner. The glowing apparition floated toward Izzy. With a comforting smile and caring eyes, Cynthia showered her with the sensation of a thousand hugs and kisses.
    “Mommy...” The child in Izzy muttered, as the adult in her tried to return her mother’s embrace, but had no luck.
    “Sweetheart, let’s sit together and talk a while.” Cynthia Miller’s voice, oddly enough, reassured Izzy just as much as any embrace ever could.
    An unseen and unidentifiable force nudged Izzy down onto that dreadful orange couch. Cynthia used the remote on the coffee table to turn off the TV, and sat down. She guided a wayward strand of Izzy’s hair out of her face, and then Cynthia rested her hands in her lap. “I’m so proud of you.”
    Izzy shivered and surveyed the room. Rebecca’s ashes. A sigh caught her breath, and for a second she had to fight for air. “Rebecca?” Her baby sister’s name skipped up her throat like it’d been raked over hot coals. She’d died during birth, and the idea of Rebecca had remained as vague as a cool wind on a hot summer’s day.
    “Becca’s fine.” Cynthia reached for Izzy and her hand cropped through Izzy’s arm and then her leg. In some odd way, the attempted touch was calming.
    “Can I see her?” That idea was beyond belief, beyond comprehension, beyond reason.
    Cynthia shot her an placatory glance. “I’m afraid she’s not here.”
    Izzy