1800s. San Antonio, Texas: In room 207 at the Longhorn Saloon, in the long shadow of the Alamo itself, a woman renowned for her beauty was brutally murdered. Her killer was never found.
One year ago: In that same historic room, another woman vanished without a trace. Her blood was everywhere...but her body was never recovered.
Now: In the last month, San Antonio has become a dumping ground for battered bodies. All young women, many of them long missing, almost all forgotten. Until now.
Texas Ranger Logan Raintree cannot sit by and let his cityâs most vulnerable citizens be slain. So when he is approached to lead a brand-new group of elite paranormal investigators working the case, he has no choice but to accept the challenge. And with it, his powerful ability to commune with the dead.
Among Loganâs new team is Kelsey OâBrien, a U.S. marshal known for her razor-sharp intuition and a toughness that belies her delicate exterior. Kelsey has been waiting all her life to work with someone who can understand her ability to âseeâ the past unfolding in the present. Now she has her chance.
Together, Kelsey and Logan follow their instincts to the Alamo and to the newly reopened Longhorn, which once tempted heroes with drink, cards and women. If the spirits of those long-dead Texans are really appearing to the victims before their deaths, only Kelsey and Logan have the skills to find out why.
And if something more earthly is menacing the cityâs oldest, darkest corners, only they can stop itâbefore more innocent women join the company of San Antonioâs restless ghosts....
For Kathryn Falk, Ken Rubin, Jo Carol Jones, Sharon Murphy,
Lisa and Chris, Barney, and the Cumbess family in memory of âMaw.â
And to all the great friends Iâve made
who live in and love the Great State of Texas!
Prologue
Galveston Island, Texas
Spring, 1835
The moon that night was enchanting. Rose Langley walked barefoot on the beach, looking up at the splendor in the sky. She had no idea what had caused this beautiful spectacle; she just knew sheâd never seen anything like it. It was a large and shimmering half crescent, and behind it, like a silent and glowing echo, was a second half crescent. Once upon a time, she might have gone to her tutor, Mr. Morenoâso old, soft-spoken and wiseâand asked him where such an intriguing sky had come from. He would have studied it and perhaps told her that one of the other planets was aligned with the moon. Or, perhaps, he might have said it was an illusion created by cloud cover or by tiny dewdrops in the air that didnât quite become rain.
But, of course, she couldnât ask Mr. Moreno anything. Sheâd given him up, along with anything that resembled decency and a respectable life when sheâd become convinced that her father was cruel and unreasonable, incapable of seeing what a wonderful, illustrious man Taylor Grant would prove to be.
Sheâd run away from the gentility of her home in New Orleans, certain that Taylor loved her and that her world with him would be wonderful.
She tried to think only of the moon and feel its enchantment. But she could hear the men back at the saloon. Pirateâs Coveâan apt name for a saloon, since Galveston Island had first been settled by the pirate Lafitte. Lafitte was long gone. Older men, remnants of the pirateâs day, still sat in the bar, where they drank and cursed and spoke of the days of Spanish rule and French rule, Spanish rule again and the coming independence of Texas. It was all talk. Galveston was a rising port city, and there were plenty of ill-gotten gains to be found here. Maybe a few of the men would be leaving to take up arms for Texas, but for the most part, they were lecherous miscreants who seemed to sit around all day drinking, smelling worse and worse by the hour. And theyâd get Taylor drinking, and heâd have no money, and heâd convince them to pay for her servicesâand convince her that theyâd pass out as soon as they were alone with her. They generally did, though not always quickly enough⦠. She winced, staring up at the moon. She would feel sweaty and horrid, and the stench of them would stay with her long after theyâd passed out, and even walking into the waters of the bay would not erase that stench.
She could hear the laughter and the curses and the bawdy remarks. And sometimes, she could hear the feigned laughter of one of the saloon whoresâwomen who were mostly old and used up, who poured on the perfume and accepted small amounts of money and whiskey or rum for their quick services.
Taylor had turned her into one of them.
Tears stung her eyes. She tried to pretend sheâd never left home and she was just a young woman walking on a beach beneath a whimsical moon. But it didnât change a thing. And it couldnât ease the pain that suddenly filled her.