The Darkest Frost, Volume 1 of a 2-part serial (EXCERPT)

CHAPTER 4

THE FROST ESTATE

DEARBORNE, MARYLAND

Denieve

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The next week and a half didn't yield much in the psychic reading department. Caryn hadn't shown her face since I arrived. Not surprising considering she'd been just as erratic when she was alive. Sometimes she'd disappear for days at a time without a word. God only knew if she'd ever come back.

In the interim, I planted wireless bugs, EVP recorders, temperature gauges, and thermal imaging Minicams on the first and second floors, all of which fed into my laptop. The library, den, kitchen, and second-floor hallway were the strongest emotional hot spots.

As for the mysterious Dr. Frost, he spent the majority of his time gardening, running errands, or doing whatever it was he did beyond those creepy French doors. This pretty much left me with the run of the house. Well, most of it anyway. I'd yet to figure out how to break into his suite. Short of attaching a stick of dynamite to the knob or shooting the damn door open, I wasn't getting in there.

Between interviewing moving companies and real-estate agents, as well as my many pathetic attempts to lure Caryn out of hiding, I barely saw Frost, and when I did, he all but ignored me. Most of our conversations took place over the intercom or during the two or three minutes of small talk I initiated while serving his meals. Despite this, we quickly settled into a makeshift routine.

Though he rarely emoted, I was still able to discern enough to anticipate many of his needs before he voiced them. It may not have been much, but to me, it was one more small step in my campaign to get to know him.

However, he threw me a serious curve ball two weeks in. He left in the pouring rain carrying another crate of flowers, only to return just after one in the morning.

I didn't see him. I smelled him. It was the scent of death. The odor mimicked wet earth and he'd left it behind in the second-floor hallway.

Death had two odors, what I called First-Person and Residual. First-Person surfaced if I had direct contact with a corpse.

In contrast, Residual happened whenever I encountered a person who'd recently been around something dead. This was the first time I'd smelled the scent on him.

What the hell had he been doing?

I didn't cross paths with him until nearly a week later, and once again, he smelled like wet earth. I'd just left the kitchen toting a bag of popcorn with a couple books tucked beneath my arm. My nose was buried in a thick paperback when we literally crashed into each other, and the collision was catastrophic. On impact, my index finger bent the wrong way and everything went flying.

"Miss Reed? What the- - -"

"Sorry, sir." I bit my tongue to keep from screaming as I massaged my throbbing finger. "I guess I wasn't looking where I was going."

"Indeed," he said with a harsh sigh, brushing irritably at the popcorn littering his sleek black coat. His thorny gaze cut to my hand. "Do I need to look at that?"

Moments after I gave my head a panicked shake, his eyes slowly narrowed. The man wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what I was thinking:

Dr. Death wants to examine me? Um, no... Just...no.