db1bd484fe8700408f51338793ca8c56

Since he couldn’t push the ghost away. Dean went through him and dropped to his knees by Claire’s side. “What happened?”

“I slipped.”

“Are you hurt?” Without thinking, he reached for her arm but drew back at her expression.

“I said,I’m fine.”

“Told you so,” Jacques murmured, drifting up by the ceiling.

Claire pushed herself into a sitting position with one hand and gave Dean the banister pommel with the other.“If you’re looking for something to do…” A triple boom not only cut off Dean’s response but spun her around, hand over her heart as she futilely tried to keep it from beating in time. “What the…”

“Door knocker,” Dean explained, then clapped his hands over his ears as the sound echoed through the lobby again.

Except that Dean had no reason to lie, she’d never have believed that the brass knocker she’d seen on her first night could have made the noise.At least we know it’s not Mrs. Abrams; she never knocks. As Dean ran for the door before their caller knocked again and they all went deaf, Claire got to her feet, telling Jacques to disappear.

“Why?” he demanded, floating down to the floor.

“You’re translucent in natural light”

“What means translucent?”

“I can see through you.”

“That is because to you,cherie, I have nothing to hide.” He blew her a kiss and vanished as the door opened.

A graying man in his mid-forties peered over a huge bouquet of red chrysanthemums, his slightly protruding eyes flicking back and forth between Dean and Claire.“Flowers for Ms. Moore.”

“She’s sleeping,” Dean told him, adding helpfully, “if you leave them here, I’ll see that she gets them when she wakes up.”

The deliveryman shook his head and held out a clipboard.“I gotta have her sign for ’em.”

“But she’s asleep.”

“Look, all I know is that I gotta have her signature and room number on this or I can’t leave the flowers.” He looked suddenly hopeful “Maybe you could just fake it for me? Then I’d leave ’em with you. It’dreally help me out.”

“I don’t know…”

Claire did.“I’m sorry,” she said, crossing the lobby, “but we don’t give out the room numbers of our guests. If you can’t leave the flowers with us, you’ll have to come back.”

“Look, lady, it’s my last delivery. What difference would it make?”

“You’re missing the point.” Moving in front of Dean so she stood eye to eye with the deliveryman, who was no taller than her own five-feet-five, Claire folded her arms and smiled. “We don’t give out die room numbers of our guests.”

“But…”

“No.”

He looked up at Dean.“Come on, buddy, give me a break, eh.”

Claire snapped her fingers under his nose, drawing his attention back down to her.“What part of no don’t you understand?”

“Okay. Fine. You’re responsible for Ms. Moore not getting her flowers, then.”

“I can live with that.” It was nice to have a responsibility so well defined.

“Yeah, well, thanks for the help.” Lip curled, he spun around and missed his step on the uneven stairs. Flowers flailing, he began to fall.

“Boss!” Dean’s exclamation prodded at her conscience. “He could get hurt!”

Reminding herself of where temptations came from, Claire sighed, took her time reaching for power and, just as he began to pitch forward, set the deliveryman back on his feet.

He never noticed. Stomping down the remaining steps, he flung the flowers into his car and, tires squealing, drove away.

Claire watched until he turned onto King Street.“I wonder who the flowers were from?”

“A fan?”

“I guess.” She reached out and gave the small brass knocker an investigative flick. When the resulting boom faded, she followed Dean back inside. “But how did they know she was staying here?”

“Maybe she told them.”

“Maybe,” Jacques put in, rematerializing, “they were from the one last night. Flowers to say,Thanks for the memories.”

“I don’t think so; she wouldn’t have told anyone she was staying here.”

“Why not?”

“Because she told me she valued her privacy.”

LIAR, a triumphant little voice announced in her head.

A lie to protect another, Claire pointed out.Circumstances must be weighed. And get out of my head!

THE LIE INVITED US IN.

Fine. Now I’m telling you to leave.

“Claire?”

Her eyes refocused.“Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“Ms. Moore’s privacy.”

“Right. We’re going to respect it.” She looked pointedly at Jacques. “And that means all of us.”

[Ęŕđňčíęŕ: img_5]

Later that afternoon, as the last flat bit of counter emerged from under the twenty-seventh layer of paint, Baby could be heard barking furiously in his area.

Dean glanced up to see Austin still sprawled out on top of Claire’s monitor. “Mailman must be late today.”

“Only if he’s out in the parking lot.”

“What?”

The cat leaped down onto the desk, knocking a pile of loose papers and a pen to the floor.“According to Baby, who functions remarkably well on only two brain cells, there’s a stranger in the parking lot.”

“My truck!” Springing to his feet he raced toward the back door, peeling off another pair of gloves as he went.

Claire, on her way up from testing the dampening field, stepped in his path.“Hold it! Remember the urethane!”