Charon's Crossing

"You don't."

"I do. You think things aren't working between us, but—"

"This has nothing to do with us!"

Jason blinked. "It hasn't?" he said, and gave a long sigh. "Oh, wow. I thought—"

"Jason." Kathryn pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him. She folded her hands on the table. "I've got to tell you something. I know it's going to sound crazy, but... The thing is, Charon's Crossing is—is more than just a ruin."

Jason laughed and shook his head. "You're probably right, but if there's a stronger word to describe it, I can't think of it."

"I don't mean that. I mean, yes, the house is a mess, but... The thing is... the thing is, Jason, Charon's Crossing is haunted."

There. The words were out. Just saying them made her feel better—until Jason laughed.

"Haunted," he said.

Kathryn nodded. "Yes."

"Haunted," he repeated, chuckling. He shoved back his chair, got to his feet, and walked to the stove. "Haunted" he said, and poured himself more coffee.

Kathryn's eyes narrowed as she stood up. "That's what I said."

"Uh huh." He looked at her. "And just when did you find this out?"

"Almost as soon as I got here. It turned out that everybody knew about it. My attorney, the realtor, the guy who's going to fix the house up... Jason, dammit, will you stop laughing? This isn't funny!"

"No," he said, his lips twitching, "I don't suppose it is. It's going to be difficult enough to find a buyer for this wreck but if people think there's a resident spook..."

"Not everyone can see him."

"The spook?"

"The ghost," she said, folding her arms.

"No," Jason said with solemnity, "of course not." He leaned back against the counter and took a sip of his coffee. "What is he, anyway? Wait. Don't tell me. He's a pirate. They were big in these waters, weren't they?"

"He was a privateer."

Jason laughed. "Sorry. Fine distinctions are important in these things, I suppose."

"It isn't a fine distinction," Matthew said in clipped tones.

"It isn't a fine distinction," Kathryn said, and frowned. "I mean, a pirate was a pirate. But a privateer was legitimate."

Matthew chuckled. "Some were. Some were like me, who wouldn't have known their fathers if they'd tripped over them."

"This privateer," Kathryn said, ignoring him, "sailed for the British just before the War of 1812. He captured french merchant ships carrying contraband."

"Yes," Matthew said lazily. "And he was damned good at it, too."

He materialized suddenly, standing on the far side of the room, leaning back against the wall in that nonchalant, arrogant posture that never failed to set Kathryn's teeth on edge, his arms folded, his feet crossed at the ankle. His hair was loose, hanging like thick, shining silk to his shoulders and his shirt was open halfway down his chest.

Had a man ever looked more dangerous, or more sexy?

Kathryn hated herself for the disloyal thought. She moved closer to Jason and deliberately took hold of his hand.

"The thing is, what am I going to do about it?"