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About Ghost Layer
Product Description Second in the new series from the author of Heart Fortune, Heart Journey, and other Celta novelsWhat lies beneath… Clare Cermak’s adjusting to a new man in her life—and a lot of ghosts. The passing of Clare’s aunt gave way to a sizeable inheritance of not only money, but also the ability to communicate with the dead. At the same time, she met Zach Slade, a private detective with a rough past, and just like Clare, he’s not yet ready to accept her gift—or his own. But Clare has another matter to look into. A multimillionaire needs her help after relocating an old ghost town to his mountain estate. The bones of a murdered prospector are making nightly appearances in his guests’ beds. When the gold miner’s ghost contacts Clare, she promises to help find the name of his killer—but someone doesn't want the past revealed and might find her first… Review “One of the best authors in paranormal and fantasy.”— In the Library Reviews Praise for the novels of Robin D. Owens “An exciting romance…This cleverly crafted book starts out quickly and the pace does not let up until the very satisfying conclusion.”— Fresh Fiction “So much fun to read…Intense, romantic, and, at times, heart wrenching.”— Romance Reviews Today About the Author Robin D. Owens is the RITA Award-winning, bestselling author of the Celta novels. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. CONTENTS ONE DENVER, COLORADO, SECOND WEEK OF SEPTEMBER ZACH SLADE’S NEW cane had been delivered when he was gone. It was a necessity, but also a better weapon. The hook handle could snag and yank a leg. The box the cane had come in leaned against the gray rough-cut stone of the mansion where he rented the housekeeper’s suite. Sticking both old and new canes as well as the box under his left arm, he unlocked the side doors to the great house. Since he’d been shot below the knee, which severed a nerve, and his left ankle and foot didn’t flex, he lifted his knee high simply to walk into his apartment. Yeah, he was disabled. Had foot drop. His career as an active peace officer, his most recent job as a deputy sheriff, was over at thirty-four. He and his partner had pulled over a drunk driver, an ex-cop his partner had known. His partner had treated him friendly and hadn’t searched him for weapons, and Zach hadn’t corrected her mistake. The drunk had pulled a gun, and in a scuffle, Zach had been shot just below the knee, which shattered the bone and severed his peroneal nerve. Instead of wallowing in anger, he had to move on to damned acceptance. He wouldn’t slip back into denial again. He’d finally gotten beyond that. Maybe. The heavy security door slammed behind him. Cool air flowed over him and he realized how sticky he was from the long two-day drive from Montana. At least his clothes fit better. He’d finally packed on more muscle after his weight loss due to the shooting. He tossed the box and his old cane on the empty surface of the long coffee table in front of the big, brown leather couch in the living room. Then he slashed the new wooden cane through the air in fighting moves. He was learning bartitsu, the Victorian mixed-martial art that featured cane fighting. There’d been no bartitsu studio in Montana, where he’d been called back to testify against the parole of a serial killer he’d put away a year and a half ago. He’d been gone for six days . . . had only had a single easy day before that with his new lover, Clare. Very new lover, along with his new life—moving from Montana in the first place, finding a job and an apartment . . . and Clare. While gone, he’d thought often enough of her to keep track of the days. They’d met only two weeks ago tomorrow, so about thirteen full days. If he wanted to do the calculations of twelve days, twenty-some hours, and minutes and so on, he could do that. But he’d leave that up to Clare, the ex-accountant good with numbers. Still, of the thirteen days since they’d met, he’d just been gone
