GENRE: Gay Paranormal Mystery Romance
LENGTH: 32,399 words
RATING:

Jon Watts heard stories about ghosts but never believed in them ... until he becomes one. Now, if he wants to move on, he has to solve his own murder.

At least he'll have help from three new friends: Brody, an undercover cop who was killed five years earlier by an unknown assailant; Sage, a medium who can see and speak with ghosts; and Mike, the detective investigating Jon's murder, who doesn’t know ghosts exist until Sage convinces him otherwise.

Will the four men solve both Brody’s and Jon’s murders? The possible attraction between Mike and Sage only complicates things. Or are Jon and Brody doomed to remain ghosts forever?

EXCERPT:

"What floor do you live on?" Brody asked.

"The fourth." Jon started down the hallway leading to the lobby.

"Let's ... No, let's not. Not yet."

"What?"

"I was going to say we could go straight up." Brody pointed to the ceiling. "But you better get used to lateral travel first before trying vertical. We'll work on that when we get to your place."

Jon nodded as they entered the lobby.

"Well aren't we the lucky ones," Brody said a moment later. He and Jon arrived at the elevator at the same time as the detective and one of the police officers Jon had seen by his body at the crime scene. The officer pushed the UP button.

As soon as the door opened, everyone stepped into the elevator. Obviously the detective and his companion weren't aware they had company on the ride up.

When they got off, the detective said, "Number four-o-four should be this way," as he started down the hallway toward Jon's apartment. He was holding a set of keys that Jon recognized as his. The detective unlocked the door then switched on the lights in the living room. "Not bad, for a waiter," he told the officer.

The officer nodded. "Even waiters can have good taste, Detective Harris."

"I told you, call me Mike. Okay?"

Jon frowned as the detective began going through the drawers of the desk in one corner of the living room. "He's prying."

Brody shook his head. "He's looking for anything that might tell him why someone wanted you dead."

"He won't find anything, since I don't know why I was killed."

Brody studied Jon. "What happened before the guy bashed your head in?"

"Huh?"

"Okay. Rephrase. Where were you before you got to the parking lot?"

Jon was thrown off by the question. "At work? I mean, yeah, I must have been."

"You don't remember?"

Jon squeeze his eyes shut, trying to picture it. "I drove into the lot, parked, got out, then walked toward the building. Something hit me --" He touched the back of his head. "-- and that's it."

"Nothing before then?"

Taking a deep breath, Jon slowly shook his head. "Nothing. Well, I know I was a waiter, and how old I am. Stuff like that. But no details. Can ghosts get amnesia?"

"Got me. But if a blow to the head can cause it while you're alive, maybe it carries over?"

"Do you remember your life, before you died?" Jon asked.

"In living color," Brody said tightly. "I was twenty nine and they finally let me go undercover to bring down a drug dealer we were after. A feather in my cap, as far as I was concerned, since I'd been trying to get them to let me do undercover work. Anyway, I was walking down the street, about a week after I made it into the dealer's gang. It was around two in the morning and I was heading to a meet. Some bastard shot me -- once in the back, once in the shoulder. I'd bled out by the time someone found me."

"Damn," Jon whispered. "You were a cop?"

"Yeah." Brody almost smiled. "A good one, until that happened. It made all the papers. They never found out who did it, even though it almost had to be someone in the gang who figured out I was a cop and decided to eliminate me. I guess I wasn't as good at undercover work as I thought I was," he added dryly.

"That sucks."

"It did."

Jon turned his attention to Detective Harris and the officer, who were now in the bedroom off the living room. "What do they think they'll find in there, other than my clothes?" he asked Brody. Then something occurred to him. "They can't hear us, can they?"

"Nope. We're on a different plane of existence. At least that's how I figure it. Here, but not here. Make sense?"

"I guess."

Brody chuckled. "Go with it. Some people can see or hear us, but they're few and far between."

"I wish the detective would find something, even if it meant I was a crook. At least it would explain who wanted me dead."

"There's one thing you should consider, other than that," Brody replied. "It could have been a mugging, pure and simple."

"And they left a wad of cash in my wallet?"

"How much?"

"Five hundred bucks. I'm ... I was a waiter, damn it. That much I do remember. Waiters don't make that kind of tips."

"Depends where they work," Brody replied.

"Do I look like a guy who had a job at a high-class place?" Since he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt under a plain blue work shirt, Jon knew he didn't.

Brody shook his head. "Not at the moment. But you could have changed clothes before you left."

"I guess."