Shiver / Private Sessions: Shiver / Private Sessions

“Watches what?”

Erin got that look in her eye. “Apparitions, sometimes. Flashes of light. They’ll see whoever’s in the hotel, of course, and then there are all the monitors for sound, temperature fluctuations, electromagnetic shifts. It can be pretty compelling stuff, if you open your mind. I know there’s activity here. I’ve already felt … things.”

“Hands on your ass, perhaps?”

“Carrie. Stop it.”

“Sorry. I promise. I’ll be good. So when do you get to go to the scary hotel?”

“First shift. Midnight,” she said, right before she frowned. “Tomorrow.”

“Well, I hope there are apparitions and specters and flashes and everything you’ve ever wanted, but not until you’re there to see it in person. Seriously.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but me, too,” Erin said.

Carrie wondered yet again how she’d gotten so lucky to find such a good friend. The thought was interrupted when she got a load of the chairs set out for those who didn’t get to freeze all night in a rickety death trap. They looked intensely uncomfortable, but then Carrie wasn’t planning to be in one for too long.

Erin headed out, readjusting her tote as she walked. “I need to put this thing down.”

Carrie hurried to catch up, but Erin was tall and she was fast. “As long as we’re not …”

Erin put her tote bag down in the front row.

“… in the front row.”

“We’re at the end. You can still get out when you need to escape.”

Carrie waved at her to shush. She’d already gotten dirty looks from people. “Fine. I wasn’t going to get alcohol, but you’ve changed my mind.”

“What booze goes with chocolate?”

“Enough of either one, and it doesn’t matter.” Carrie led her friend to the bar on the right. “But I’m going for a Kahlúa and coffee.”

“Oooh, that sounds good. Did you look at your program?”

“Yes. I did.”

“So you know about Marcia Williams.”

Carrie had no clue. “Absolutely.”

Erin folded her arms over her chest. “As often as you lie, you really should be better at it.”

“All right. Who’s Marcia Williams?”

“Only one of the most famous mediums in the world.”

“Oooh,” Carrie said, trying to sound as excited as Erin had about the Kahlúa.

“I bought you a reading.”

“Erin. You don’t have money to throw away like that, especially since you’re moving.”

Her friend looked wounded. “Really? You’ve decided to go there on the first night?”

People were looking. But that wasn’t why Carrie moved closer to Erin. “I’m sorry. I meant thank you.”

The anger disappeared in a blink of Erin’s blue eyes. “No fair. I have every reason to be mad.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that. And ample opportunities, I’m sure. So let’s get drunk and fat and then meet and greet the hell out of this crew.”

THE BUYERS WERE ON their way from Denver, and instead of pacing the lobby until he drove himself crazy, Sam headed for the banquet room, which was packed.

He walked through the crowd, checking that the floor was clean, that the glasses and dishes were being bussed, that everyone seemed happy. He didn’t worry about the bartenders. Both of them normally worked in the pub, and they knew what they were doing. Gene had worked here over ten years, and he’d met his wife, Felicity, when she’d come on board. They’d been married in the garden right here on the property. Sam had been filming in Atlanta that summer. His father had signed their gift from the both of them.

Carrie was in Felicity’s line. She wore slim black jeans and a snug green sweater, and when she turned his way, he felt as if he’d been hit with an electric shock. Just a buzz, diffused through his chest and lower, a reminder of what his trip to the forest had told him. This was a woman he wanted to know better. Intimately. He headed her way.

It was clear the moment she noticed him, and he let out a held breath at her smile. There was nothing forced about it, nothing faked. He’d caught her by surprise and her first instinct was to welcome him. Excellent.

“Hey, you have any pull around here?” she asked. “We’ve been in line for hours.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Hours, huh?”

“At least three. Maybe five. I’m too parched to be sure.” Carrie had lost the grin, and replaced it with complete sincerity. It was Erin, and the fact that the ballroom had only been open for about twenty minutes, that gave her away.

“She’s like this all the time, Sam. It’s awful. You’ll see.”

“I think I can handle it.”

Carrie grinned prettily. “You can get us our drinks?”

“Sure thing. As soon as we reach the bar.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

“It’s only the first night,” he said. “I can’t go playing favorites. Yet.”

“Oooh.” Erin bumped Carrie’s shoulder with her own. “You’d better not hog all the good ghosts, missy.”

Carrie laughed, but when her gaze caught his, she stopped as if she’d just realized whom she was joking with. A stranger. An innkeeper in a haunted hotel. One who did peculiar things to her mind and her body.

“This looks fantastic,” Erin said, filling in what had just begun to feel like an awkward pause. “I can’t wait to get my hands on some of that dessert. Who is this chef? Some star of the Food Network?”

“She’s been on Iron Chef before. And won.”

Erin stepped out of line into his personal space and shoved his chest. Kind of hard. He didn’t mind exactly, although he was surprised. “You are kidding me.” Her voice had gotten half an octave lower, and he took another step back.

“Nope. Not kidding.”