Charon's Crossing

Kathryn sighed, shut off the water, and shoved the shower curtain back just far enough so she could reach out and fumble for her bath towel. Even drying off wasn't easy. Whoever had mounted the towel bar had either never bothered measuring the distance from it to the tub or he'd had arms like a gorilla. The towels hung just two or three inches too far to be reached easi...

She froze.

The towel had just about leaped into her hand.

Either her arms had grown longer—or someone had handed the towel to her.

Goose bumps rose all along her skin.

"Don't be crazy," she whispered.

She was alone in the bathroom. And in the house. Every door was locked, even this one. She knew it was silly but ever since Olive had come into the house unannounced, she'd made it a point to lock doors. The front one. The rear ones. The one to her bedroom at night and to the bathroom, any time she was in it.

Okay. So there was a rational explanation for what had just happened.

She wrapped the towel around herself and held; it together with one hand. Then she took a deep breath, pulled open the curtain...

... and burst into gales of relieved laughter.

She wasn't alone after all.

A tiny green chameleon, looking more like a lapel pin than a lizard, clung to the wall beside the sink. It was basking in the sun spilling through the open window along with a warm, lazy breeze—a breeze that, even as she watched, playfully lifted the edge of the remaining towel on the rack so that it flapped towards the shower.

So much for the Great Towel Mystery.

"You see?" Kathryn said to the chameleon. "There's always a rational explanation." She sighed. "I knew that, when I got off that plane the other day. My problem is that I've been trapped in this crazy house too long."

The tiny lizard fixed her with an unblinking stare and bobbed its head. Kathryn grinned.

"Thank you," she said, "I'm glad we agree."

Humming softly under her breath, she hurried down the hall to her bedroom to get dressed.

* * *

The shaft of sunlight that illuminated the bathroom blazed brighter and brighter, until it was a shimmering sweep of quicksilver.

The little green chameleon lifted its head, then scuttled away in terror as Matthew emerged from the light's pulsing heart.

"Hell," he growled.

What a damned fool game for a grown man to play. Well, maybe that was the wrong description, all things considered.

"Hell," he said again, shooting a hand through his hair.

Man or spirit, spying on Catherine had been stupid. It had been childish. It had even been dangerous. If Cat had somehow seen him, there was a damned good chance she'd have stumbled in fear, fallen down and, perhaps, snapped her pretty neck.

He was reserving that pleasure for himself. No slippery bathtub was going to cheat him out of his revenge!

A slow smile eased across his mouth. Still, it had been worth the risk. The sight of her, wearing nothing but that towel as she stepped from the tub... Her long legs, the thrust of her breasts, the water beading like tiny jewels on her creamy shoulders...

An all-too-familiar tightness curled through his loins.

"Hell," he said again, folding his arms over his chest and glowering.

Catherine wasn't the only one who'd been in this damned house too long!

He was behaving like a boy, and for what reason? That Catherine was