After he turned the corner, I called Parker. He was on the verge of exploding again, but I didn’t have time for his hissy fit.

“Parker, did you get the footage of the surveillance cameras at the hospital?”

“You tied him up.”

“He was going to commit suicide.”

“What if he presses charges?”

“Pfft, he won’t. He’s got a lot more to worry about than my pointing a gun at him.”

“So, you admit you did it.”

“Parker, what the fuck? Do you have the footage or not?”

“Yes. Why? There’s nothing on it.”

“She was never attacked? Did she argue with anyone?”

“No. We have her whole day. She seemed upset all day, and she’d actually left for a while to grab dinner.”

“So, she left and came back?”

“Yes.”

“And did what?”

“She went into her office. No cameras. And when she came out, she went straight to the lab. It looked like she’d been crying. She was wiping her face.”

I rested my head on Misery’s steering wheel. “Parker, I’m so stupid.”

He didn’t argue. Fucker.

“I think I know what happened, but I need to check one more thing.”

“What? Tell me now.”

“I need to check something.” If I was wrong, I was going to look beyond stupid, so I opted not to voice my suspicions.

“What if you die in a freak accident? Just fucking tell me.”

“I will. Give me until tonight.”

“Davidson—”

I hung up before he could threaten me again and called Cookie.

“You’re alive!” she said, relieved.

“Yeah, Fernando and I totally hit it off. Did you look into Mr. Adams Sr.’s holdings?”

“Oh yeah. It’s like he told you, he sold almost everything a couple of years ago and liquidated all his stocks.”

“Almost?” I asked, not knowing if my heart should fly or sink.

This case was about to get very complicated.

* * *

Postponing my search for Osh again, I grabbed something that closely resembled chicken strips at a drive-through, hit another drive-through for a mocha latte, then headed for the great outdoors. My route would take a little over two hours, but if I was right, and I liked to think I was, it would be very, very worth the trip.

I hadn’t even hit I-25, however, before I spotted a very familiar neon-green van behind me. I pulled into the parking lot of a truck stop and waited. Instead of pulling in, they pulled on to a side street.

I got out of Misery and marched toward them.

They panicked. The looks on their faces were worth the price of admission. When I was about ten feet away, they all stared straight ahead and tried to start the van. Like they didn’t see me coming. And I thought I was bad at acting.

I knocked on the driver’s-side window. They stopped and looked at each other, wondering what to do.

“Roll it down,” I suggested through the window.

The van was old school, and Tristan, the only Ghostbuster without a brother in the gang, turned the handle. The window squeaked on its rollers. It was a long and awkward moment, and all I could do was stand there and fight a grin. I didn’t want to embarrass them. Well, any more than they already were.

“Didn’t we talk about this?” I asked.

Tristan had yet to look at me. When he did, my heart fell just a little more for him, his boyish face sweet and concerned.

“We—we were worried about you,” he said. They all had the decency to look ashamed.

“Why?” I asked.

“The French team. They aren’t very nice.”

“And, no offense,” one of the brothers said, “but one kiss is not going to scare them away.”

I laughed. “It may not have, but I can handle myself. I promise.”

“We saw that entity throw you around like a rag doll. What you are messing with is dangerous.”

“Is it? Can I ask you a question?”

They all nodded in unison.

“Have you been experiencing any unusual activity?”

“All our lives,” Iago said. “But mostly Tristan.”

“Oh yeah? Since when?”

“Since I was about two. I can sense when the dead are near.”

I fought another grin. “Can you?”

The departed that had attached itself to him was practically sitting in his lap. Big guy with crazy hair and a straitjacket. It glared at him. Unblinking. Unmoving. Unwavering. Just nonstop glaring.

I saw the departed all the time, and even I was a little creeped out.

“Anything more recent? Maybe something since you visited an insane asylum? Or an old prison?”

His face lit up as recognition hit him. “Yes. We had an assignment at an abandoned sanatorium in Kentucky.”

“And ever since then,” another chimed in, “we’ve been having some really weird stuff happen.”

“Weird like how?”

“Mostly with Tristan. He feels cold spots and something brush up against him.”

I leveled a hard gaze on him. “What did you take?”

“We never take anything,” Isaac said.

Iago chimed in. “We’re urban explorers. We leave everything the way we found it.”

I raised a brow at the man closest to me. “Tristan, is there anything you’d like to share with the class?”

“Me? No. Not that I can think of.”

“You took something from a site?” Iago said, believing him no more than I did. “Dude, that is not cool.”

“It was a toy soldier,” he said, defending his choice. “That was it.”

“Let me see it.” I snapped my fingers when he didn’t get it immediately.

Reluctantly, he pulled it out of a pocket in his jumper. A jumper. They were wearing jumpers. I totally wanted to adopt them. True, they had seen Ghostbusters one too many times, but seriously, one just doesn’t find that kind of dedication anymore.

Iago studied his friend like he was seeing him with new eyes. “You keep a toy soldier in your pocket?”

“That’s what she said,” Isaac said, then doubled over with laughter.

As I thought, the departed tracked the soldier as he handed it to me, his eyes glistening. I placed it in my palm and let him see it.