Kylie was startled to see the face of a young girl pressed against the windowpane
The girlâs hair was long and clung close to her head, as if she had just stepped from a shower. She waved.
Kylie lifted a hand and waved back, wondering what the girl was doing alone in the dark, drafty upper halls of the resort.
âWho are you waving at?â Michael asked.
âThat girl, on the top floor.â She pointed to the spot.
Michael glanced upward. âThereâs no one there, Kylie. You must have seen a shadow.â
She looked up again, her eyes sweeping the length of the top floor. The windows were all empty, the small face pressed to the window moments ago, gone.
The hair on the back of her neck prickled and uneasiness rushed through her. Had she imagined the face?
âI could have sworn there was someone up there.â
âNot possible. We keep the top two floors closed off during the winter months.â
Kylie shivered. Perhaps returning to Cloudspin had been a mistake.
For Emmitt & Odin
May you find life as sweet and joyful as you are to your loving parents. Have a wonderful life, little guys.
A special thanks to Ann Drobnik for
taking the great pictures of the East Village.
A devoted Star Trek fan, Susan Peterson wrote her first science-fiction novel at the age of thirteen. But unlike other Star Trek fan writers, in Susanâs novel, she made sure that Mr. Spock fell in love. Unfortunately, what she didnât take into consideration was the fact that falling in love and pursuing a life of total logic didnât exactly go hand in hand. In any case, it was then that she realized that she was a hopeless romanticâa person who needed the happily ever after ending. But it wasnât until later in life, after pursuing careers in intensive-care nursing and school psychology that Susan finally found the time to pursue a career in writing. An ardent fan of psychological thrillers and suspense, Susan combined her love of romance and suspense into several manuscripts targeted to the Harlequin Intrigue line. Getting the go-ahead to write for this line was a dream come true for her.
Susan lives in a small town in northern New York with her son, Kevin, her nutball dog, Ozzie, Phoenix the cat and Lex the six-toed menace (a new kitten). Susan loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at [email protected] or visit her Web site at www.susanpeterson.net.
Kylie McKeeâAll she wanted was to return to Cloudspin Lodge, pack her deceased fatherâs belongings and leave. But somethingâor someoneâis determined to see that she stays. Perhaps permanently.
Michael T. EmersonâThe prime suspect in a string of bizarre murders, Michael retreats to his favorite vacation spot and childhood haunt, Cloudspin Lodge. But the murders seem destined to follow him there, making him question his own sanity and the possibility that he is the killer.
Detective John DennerâA seasoned New York City detective, heâs determined to find the evidence to put Michael Emerson away for life.
Nikki GreenleyâCool, sophisticated and self-assured, Nikki isnât shy about going after what she wants, and she wants Michael Emerson. If that means following him up to the remote lodge buried in the mountains, then so be it.
Gracie GreenleyâShy, withdrawn and reeling from the effects of a difficult childhood filled with guilt and shame, Gracie reluctantly returns to Cloudspin Lodge with her sister, Nikki.
Craig TemplerâPompous manager of Cloudspin Lodge, he isnât happy with the invasion of unexpected guests during the lodgeâs off-season, especially since Michael Emerson ultimately has plans to fire him.
Andrea GreenleyâGhost child. The victim of a tragic accident eleven years ago, Andrea haunts the grounds of the old Adirondack lodge.
Steven Howe, Reggie Dumont, Heather Barlowe and Leslie McMastersâNikki Greenleyâs faithful posse and fellow party revelers. Theyâll follow her wherever she goesâ¦even if itâs back to the place where all their lives changed.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Fog rolled in off the Hudson River, cloaking the darkened streets with a thick, choking mist of white. The limo turned onto Barrow Street and the tires hissed on the slick pavement.
Michael Emerson stared out the window, noting that the quaint buildings lining his street seemed to waver, appearing and disappearing within the grayish mist. It was an eerie effect, almost haunting.
He glanced away from the tinted windows and rested his head back against the soft leather seat. He tried to ignore the dull ache that pounded directly behind his eyes.
Heat poured through the vents, but the warmth seemed incapable of killing the chilling dampness that flooded the interior of the car.
Michael massaged his forehead with the tips of his fingers, a futile attempt to relieve the pressure. But the pain and pressure remained, the intensity increasing with each passing minute.