Free Haunting Rachel by Kay Hooper

careful,” Rachel promised. Which was not, of course, quite what Graham had asked for, but he didn’t realize that until she was gone.
    Swearing softly, he reached for his phone.
    It was almost midnight on Tuesday night when Mercy’s pillow moved under her, and she murmured a sleepy complaint.
    “Sorry, love, but I can’t stay tonight.” Nicholas eased away from her and slid from the bed.
    “Why not?” She winced when he turned on the lamp on her nightstand, then rolled on her side and blinked owlishly.
    “Just some things I need to take care of at my place.”
    “At this hour?” Mercy raised her head and propped it on one hand, watching as he got dressed. She enjoyed watching him dress. Or undress, for that matter. He had an incredible body, so powerfully muscled there was almost no give to his flesh at all. At the same time, he didn’t look like those weight lifters with their exaggerated physiques. He was strong in ways they couldn’t begin to match, and his muscles were not for show, but for use. Hard use.
    Or so Mercy guessed. She guessed he had needed to be strong more than once in his past, probably for his very survival. The several long scars marking his back, chest, and rib cage told that story.
    When she had asked, he had said only that he’d been in “a fight or two” in his past, offering no further details. Wary of asking for more than he wanted to give, she had not brought up the subject again. But his silence only encouraged the sometimes incredible tales she made up to account for his various marks and traits and abilities. It was not an unpleasant occupation.
    But wearing a bit thin after five years of knowing him and a year of physical intimacy.
    Replying to her plaintive question, Nicholas said, “I’m a night owl, you know that. I work best this time of night.” He sat on the edge of the bed and began to put on his socks and shoes.
    “You could have warned me earlier. I put out a steak to thaw.”
    Mercy did not cook for Nicholas since he was perfectly able to cook for himself; in fact, he tended to fix breakfastfor them both whenever he stayed over at her apartment or she stayed over at his. And, being a very large man with a correspondingly large appetite, he favored substantial breakfasts such as steak and eggs.
    “Mmm. Leave it in the refrigerator and we can have it next time. Okay?”
    “Sure.” It was, strictly speaking, his steak, anyway— bought and paid for. At least once a week he arrived bearing a bag of groceries, always replacing what he had eaten at Mercy’s place, and she had never objected. It was just one more way he had of keeping their relationship on a carefully balanced footing, with neither of them beholden to the other.
    Dressed now except for the jacket he had left in her living room, he half turned to look down at her consideringly. “Or … I could come back in a couple of hours.”
    Mercy didn’t know quite what she was supposed to say to that; it wasn’t a suggestion he had ever made before. So she shrugged and murmured, “Suit yourself. You have a key.”
    He looked at her a moment longer, his ugly face unreadable, then nodded and got to his feet. “Go back to sleep, Mercy.” He turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
    Like a cat, he could see easily in the dark.
    Mercy lay back on her pillow, listening to the very faint sounds of him leaving the bedroom and then, moments later, the apartment. She didn’t go back to sleep for a long time.
    In its heyday, it had been known as The Tavern, a nice restaurant and bar that had served good food and good booze to most of the upper class of Richmond. Its OldEnglish-style sign hanging out front had been a landmark, and it had been the place to be on Saturday nights.
    That was then.
    Neither the neighborhood nor The Tavern had aged gracefully. Most of the surrounding stores were either vacant or else provided shelter for Richmond’s population of homeless and aimless. The rest had thick steel