LITMIR.BIZ

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her. Pure audio gold.

      She rushed forward and stopped abruptly as she popped out of the alley. Jackson Square stretched away across the street from her, obscured by the fog. She panned her camera left and right down Chartres Street. Where did they go?

      “Gary!” she called out.

      Nothing.

      “Gary!” she shouted. “Where are you?”

      Still nothing.

      “This isn’t funny. I need to reshoot your retreat into the fog. You guys moved too fast for me!”

      What the heck? He still wasn’t answering her. She retraced her steps into the alley. Had he and the ghosts turned down Cabildo Alley? She reached the narrow side street and peered down it. Only wisps of fog moved in a slow-motion ballet, pirouetting up into the night. But there was no sign of three men pulling a sophomoric prank on her.

      Had she moved past them inadvertently? She strode all the way back to the north end of the six-hundred-foot-long alley and the van she worked out of. No sign of Gary and his hilarious buddies.

      Enough of this. She pulled out her cell phone and angrily hit the speed dial button for Gary. She tapped an irritated foot as she waited for him to pick up. The phone rang. And rang again. And kept on ringing until it kicked over to voice mail.

      Huh. If his phone was working, why hadn’t he picked up? She walked from the show’s van all the way to the far end of the alley and back, looking for anywhere the three men might have disappeared to. Knowing Gary, he’d ducked into some bar and was hoisting a few cold ones with his actor pals, laughing his ass off at the great joke they’d played on her. Jerk.

      If that was how he wanted to play this game, then he could find his own damned way back to the lodgings the show had rented for their month of shooting in New Orleans. They were scheduled to film eight episodes here, and tonight was number three. Normally, Gary reserved his more juvenile pranks for the last shooting day in any location. He knew his stupid stunts annoyed the heck out of her and she usually needed a week or two to cool down before they worked together again.

      He was old enough to be her father, for crying out loud. It was horrendously unprofessional to pull crap like this on set. She called him every name she knew as she drove the van back to their rented house, a narrow, shabby affair with a one-car garage downstairs and two apartments upstairs.

      She took satisfaction in stomping all the way to her third-floor apartment. Still mad, she downloaded tonight’s raw footage from her camera and played it back on the monitor of her computer.

      On the larger screen, the alley looked even spookier than it had through her camera lens. Arms crossed in disgust, she watched the ghosts approach Gary, his turn, the look of surprise, and the brief struggle to follow. Hmm. Gary actually looked pretty darned convincing.

      She backed up the tape and watched it again. Gary looked like he was genuinely trying to resist those guys.

      A hum of alarm rumbled low in her gut. What if—

      She played the tape a third time, and this time doubt poked her in the ribs. What if that was real? Not the ghosts, of course. In all the episodes of America’s Ghosts she’d filmed, she’d never seen an actual ghost. Modern special effects were a marvelous thing.

      But what if the abduction had been real?

      She watched the tape several more times, torn by indecision. It was entirely possible that Gary had staged it, either because he thought it would make for good television or simply because he got a huge kick out of scaring the hell out of her. He knew she didn’t believe in ghosts, and he was forever and always trying to convince her they were real by messing with her head.

      If he really had been kidnapped, she needed to call the police right away. But if this was a joke and she called the cops, she would be embarrassed at best and charged with some crime at worst. And it wasn’t like she had any reason to trust police after her past.

      She tried calling Gary several more times on his cell phone, but she was sent to voice mail every time. A glance at the clock told her it was after 2:00 a.m., the traditional time for most bars to close down for the night. That was finally what decided it for her. Something was wrong if he wasn’t answering her calls now.

      Reluctantly, she Googled the phone number for the New Orleans Police Department. She hesitated, torn. If there was one thing in the world she hated worse than being jerked around by Gary, it was dealing with the police.

      If only she had a friend on the show or knew someone who knew Gary. She could ask them to call the police and deal with all the questions and suspicion and recriminations. But no. She was even more antisocial than the ghosts Gary spent his life trying to capture.

      Swearing under her breath, she punched in the stupid phone number.

      “N’awlins Poh-lice. How may I help y’all?” a female voice drawled.

      “I’d like to report a possible kidnapping.” She winced as soon as she heard the words spoken aloud. She’d lost her mind. There had been no kidnapping.

      “I’ll connect y’all to the Missing Puh-sons Unit. One moment.”

      A male voice came on the line. “Detective LeBlanc.” His voice, too, held a Southern drawl, but nothing like the previous cop’s.

      “Uhh, hi. My name’s Carrie Price, and I think my boss may have been kidnapped.”

      “Why’s that?”

      “Umm, I filmed it.”

      “When did this happen?” The detective’s voice was suddenly alert and interested.

      “About two hours ago.”

      “And you’re just now calling it in?”

      Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap. She was in trouble for not calling sooner. “I thought it was a joke.” She added in a rush, “And honestly, it may still turn out to be a joke. But he’s not answering his phone, and the bars are shut down by now, aren’t they?”

      “Most of them, yes.”

      “I didn’t want to bother you, but I keep watching the video, and he seems genuinely surprised and I think he’s struggling for real against the ghosts.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “Not actual ghosts, of course. Guys dressed up to look like ghosts.”

      “Riigghht. Where did this possible kidnapping happen?”

      “Pirate’s Alley.”

      “Of course.” The detective’s voice was dry now. Skeptical.

      “Look. Can you just watch the video I filmed and tell me what you think of it?”

      A sigh. “Sure. Do you want to come into the station?”

      “It might be better if you came to my place. I have a high-resolution computer monitor and editing software that can enhance images, play video in slow motion, and do stop-action views.”

      “What’s the address?”

      She rattled it off and he responded, “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

      It turned out to be more like ten, and she worried the whole time that she was just playing into Gary’s hands by calling the police. He was going to stumble in tomorrow morning, hung over as heck, and laugh his head off at her for panicking. And then she would have some tall explaining to do to the stern-sounding police officer.

      When the door buzzer sounded, Carrie jogged downstairs to let in the cop...and stopped cold at the sight of the detective standing there. He was tall and would be good-looking with those lean cheeks and chiseled jaw if he wasn’t also so dad-blamed scary looking. That stern frown of his made her want to confess to every petty wrong she’d ever committed. He wore civilian clothes, which surprised her, but he flashed his badge as she peered out the peephole.

      She

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