The Ghost Illusion

by Kat Martin

Genres: Suspense; Literary Fiction

Synopsis

In this spine-tingling tale, New York Times bestselling author Kat Martin melds psychological thriller and ghost story as one woman’s daring search for the truth tests the dividing line between life and death.
If you need help, we are here for you.
Eve St. Clair desperately needs help sorting reality from her fearful imaginings when ghostly voices seem to haunt the Victorian house in Sunderland, England, that she inherited from her uncle. Online research leads to a group that claims to offer just the aid she’s seeking. But can Ransom King’s handpicked team of investigators truly banish Eve’s night terrors?
Since the deaths of his wife and daughter, Seattle billionaire Ransom King has devoted himself to researching parapsychology and debunking the frauds who prey upon the bereaved. But Eve is a psychologist herself, clearly sane, and her sincerity is palpable. King senses a very real danger stalking the beautiful divorcée.
As his interest in her case turns deeply personal, he will move heaven and earth to uncover the truth—no matter how shocking—and save the woman he loves.

Release date: September 26, 2023

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 400

Sample

THE OLD HOUSE CREAKED AND GROANED. EVE SHIVERED AND PULLED her robe a little closer around her. She’d told herself that in time she’d get used to the place, grow accustomed to the ominous sounds and eerie, shifting movements in the shadows, but she had lived in the home she had inherited from her uncle for more than two months and the unsettling disturbances had only grown worse.

She tried to tell herself it was just her imagination, the wind playing tricks on her, the movement of the wood inside the walls of the hundred-year-old home. But the ghostly moans, whispers, and cruel laughter, the sound of running footsteps in the hallway, were impossible to ignore.

At those times, the darkness came alive, the air in the room seemed to thicken and pulse, and it took all her will just to make herself breathe.

Eve shivered as the howl of the wind outside increased, rattling the shutters on the paned-glass windows, but no wind she had ever heard sounded like angry words being whispered in the darkness.

Rising from the antique rocker in the living room, she moved the chair closer to the fireplace, hoping to dispel the chill. The smokeless coal she was required to burn wasn’t the same as a roaring blaze, but the glowing embers somehow made her feel better.

A noise in the hall caught her attention and she went still. It was the whispering she had heard before, like men speaking in low tones somewhere just out of sight. Time and again, she had gone to see who was there, but the hall was always empty.

Goose bumps crept over her skin. Today she had finally done something about it. Setting aside her closed-mindedness, she had gone on the Internet and googled information on ghosts, haunted houses, anything she could think of that might give her some answers.

It didn’t take long to realize she wasn’t the only person who had trouble with spirits or ghosts or whatever they turned out to be. Not everyone believed in ghosts, but there were people out there who were convinced they were real.

Eve had sent an email to a group in America called Paranormal Investigations, Inc., a team of experts who traveled the world to research problems like hers. Their website was discreet. No photos of the people who worked there, no names, just a picture of the office in a redbrick building near the waterfront in Seattle. At the bottom, the page simply read, If you need help, we are here for you.

Interested, but not satisfied with the limited information provided, Eve continued her research. The man who had started the company was a billionaire in Seattle named Ransom King. King owned dozens of extremely profitable corporations, including several hotel chains, one of them the five-star King’s Inns, as well as high-rise buildings, and real-estate developments around the country. He was a good-looking, broad-shouldered man, tall, with blue eyes and wavy black hair.

Paranormal Investigations wasn’t a business King ran for profit. According to one of myriad articles she’d read about him, researching paranormal phenomena had become his passion, a hunger for knowledge that seemed to have settled deep in his bones. He had founded the company after losing his wife and three-year-old daughter in a car accident. King had been driving the night a violent rainstorm had sent the car careening off the road into a tree.

Eve could only imagine how grief-stricken he must have been.

Intrigued and desperate for help, Eve had filled out the brief contact information form on the website, giving her name, phone number, and address. Her message simply said:

She glanced over at the burgundy settee where she had been sleeping for nearly a week. On the surface, it seemed ridiculous, but she couldn’t face going upstairs to her bedroom. Down here, she would at least be able to run if something bad happened.

She reminded herself to put away the blanket and pillows in the morning before her weekly housekeeper, Mrs. Pennyworth, arrived. The older woman was a notorious gossip. Eve certainly didn’t want her knowing she was too frightened to sleep in her own bed.

A scratching noise sent a chill sliding down her spine. It was probably just branches outside the window, scraping against the glass. At least that’s what she told herself.

Eve settled back in the chair and started rocking, the movement easing some of the tension between her shoulder blades. When what sounded like a dozen footsteps thundered down the hall, she prayed she would hear from the Americans soon.

Ransom King sat behind the computer on his wide, glass-topped desk in the King Enterprises’s high-rise building in downtown Seattle. The office was modern, with all the latest high-tech equipment, from a top-of-the-line iMac Pro to a seventy-inch flat screen with a wireless HDMI transmitter and receiver kit.

A gray leather sofa and chairs provided a comfortable conversation area with a chrome and glass coffee table, and a wall of glass overlooked the harbor and the blue waters of Elliott Bay.

On the computer screen in front of him, he reread the most recent email message that had come in from Eve St. Clair. They had corresponded several times. Her case looked interesting. Part of her note read:

Ran understood the words in a way few people could. In the months following the accident that had killed his wife, Sabrina, and their daughter, Chrissy, he had seen Rina and Chrissy’s faces in his dreams a hundred times.

In his dreams. That’s what he’d told himself. But a person didn’t dream in the middle of the afternoon with his eyes open.

Talking to a shrink hadn’t helped. Every explanation centered around the overwhelming guilt he felt for the death of his wife and child. Which was true, but not a satisfactory explanation of the visions that had continued to plague him.

Desperate to do something—anything that would give him peace—he had finally gone to a psychic. He had managed to keep his visits secret, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered. Lillian Bouchon had turned out to be a fraud.

The woman was a fake and a con artist, like most of the charlatans who supposedly possessed supernatural abilities. He had run through a list of them, but during his pursuit of the truth, he’d met people whose abilities were real.

In a move that had caused him endless ridicule, he had assembled a team of paranormal experts. People with open minds, an interest in the field, and a determination to find answers to age-old questions—or some version of them.

Kathryn Collins and Jesse Stahl had been his first hires. The best in their fields, Katie handled the video equipment, while Jesse handled audio and other miscellaneous instruments. Ran dug up background information on each case and probed the history, looking into past events that might have influenced whatever was happening on the premises they were investigating.

A woman named Caroline Barclay had been the first psychic on the team. On certain occasions, she’d been able to sense and communicate with unseen energy, but she wasn’t always successful. Other people followed, mostly women, who seemed to be more intuitive than men.

Aside from the members of the team he kept on payroll, including a team coordinator to handle the logistics, Ran also brought in part-time help on occasion. A psychometrist named Sarah Owens, who could touch an object and know its past, and a former priest named Lucas Devereaux, formerly known as Father Luke.

What Ran had seen in the years since his formation of the team had convinced him that spirits were real, and though he’d never made contact with Sabrina or little Chrissy, the visions and dreams had finally faded, allowing him to find a fragile sort of peace.

Two years ago, he had hired Violet Sutton, a woman he had met in an online chat room for gifted people. Tests supported her claim that she was a sensitive, and occasionally clairvoyant. He had watched her work and hired her.

Ran glanced back at the screen and thought of the case in England. What the team did could be perilous. It could be wildly exciting, a rush like nothing he had ever felt before. But under certain circumstances, it could be deadly.

And there was Eve St. Clair, a woman he found surprisingly intriguing. He liked her intelligence and what seemed like sincerity in her emails. From photos he’d seen on social media, she was attractive, with a slender figure and very dark hair. He liked the open-mindedness she had shown in reaching out for help.

And there was the fear she worked so hard to hide. If what she was reporting was true, Eve might have good reason to be afraid.

Making a sudden decision, Ran called his executive assistant and asked her to clear his schedule for the next three days. If the team found something or encountered some kind of trouble, he would be there.

Ran checked his gold Rolex. Ten a.m. in Seattle. Six p.m. in Sunderland, England. He’d go out, maybe walk down to the Bell Harbor Marina, where he kept his forty-foot sailboat. He loved that boat, loved being out on the water, loved the solitude, the peace that usually eluded him.

Maybe when he returned, he’d find a message on his computer.

Maybe he’d have another email from Eve.

THE OFFICES OF PARANORMAL INVESTIGATIONS, INC. SAT ON THE ground floor of a four-story brick building on Alaskan Way, across from the Seattle Aquarium. There were restaurants all along the quay, and through the windows, the blue waters of Elliott Bay sparkled in the morning sun.

The guard in the lobby, an older, gray-haired man named Mitch, sat behind a computer at the front desk. He waved as Ran walked past. Ran waved back and continued down the hall to the conference room.

Like the rest of the offices, the conference room had a homey feel, with exposed redbrick walls, wide-plank, golden oak floors, and comfortable leather seating. Four familiar faces looked up from their cell phone screens and smiled at him from their places around the long oak table.

“Hey, boss.” Jesse Stahl, his audio expert, a good-looking African American man, lifted a hand in greeting.

“Morning,” Ran said.

Next to Jesse, Kathryn “Katie” Collins, a thirty-year-old blonde who knew her way around a video camera like the pro she was, tucked her cell phone into her pocket. “I’m really hoping you have something for us to do. I’m going crazy sitting around the office.” After a dry spell, all of them were edgy, ready to get back to work.

“There’s a house in Sunderland, England,” Ran said. “Looks promising so far.”

Katie grinned. “I’ve never been to England.”

“Neither have I,” Jesse said, obviously intrigued.

Next at the table, Violet Sutton, the sensitive on the team, shifted in her leather swivel chair. “Actually, Britain’s kind of dreary. But with all the old buildings, there are certainly plenty of ghosts.”

Violet was in her early sixties, with silver hair she wore swept back in a twist. She tended to mother team members, including him. Ran adored her.

The fourth person in the room, Constance Dutton, was the team coordinator. A forty-year-old woman with light brown hair cut in a bob, Connie made all the travel arrangements and handled anything else that came up. Though she didn’t go with them, she took care of everyone’s needs and managed to keep all of them happy and under control.

Ran turned at the sound of the door opening as another person entered the conference room.

Like Ran, Zane Tanner was a tall man, about an inch shorter than Ran’s six feet two, with a leaner build. He had brown eyes, a square jaw, and dark brown hair with faint auburn highlights. He wore it cut short, unlike Ran’s black hair, which curled over the collar of his blue knit pullover, reminding him he needed it cut. Zane’s worn brown bomber jacket seemed to be a permanent fixture.

“Sorry I’m late,” Zane said, shedding the jacket. “I had a flat tire on the way over.” He smiled. “Not a made-up excuse, I promise.”

Ran turned back to the others. “We’re adding another member to the team. Katie, Jesse, Violet, and Connie, meet Zane Tanner. Zane’s a PI and former Green Beret. He’s going to be helping with the research and also provide security when we need it. Which may be the situation with our newest case.”

“Nice to meet you, Zane,” Violet said.

“Welcome,” said Katie, smiling brightly. With her honey-blond hair and big blue eyes, Katie was a guy magnet. She was a notorious flirt, but her interest in men rarely went deeper than the surface. She was extremely smart, and selective in the men she dated, which meant she spent a lot of time alone.

Jesse rose and extended a hand to Zane, who leaned across the table to shake. “Good to meet you,” Jesse said. “Welcome to the team.”

“Thanks,” Zane said.

Connie waved a greeting, while Violet and Katie shook Zane’s hand. Zane smiled. “I look forward to getting to know all of you better as time goes on.”

They sat back down, Ran taking his usual place at the head of the table. Connie was team coordinator, but Ransom King was the boss.

“I forwarded each of you the email we received from a woman named Eve St. Clair,” Ran said. “As usual, I had her thoroughly checked out. Zane has a contact in the UK who was able to fill in the blanks.” He turned to the newest member of the team. “Zane?”

“Dr. Eve St. Clair is thirty-one years old, born in England, parents divorced. Mother moved to Boston when Eve was three years old. Father remarried and took himself out of the picture. He and his second, much-younger wife are now living in France. Eve’s mother died while Eve was in college.”

Zane glanced up, making eye contact with the people around the table. “Recently Eve inherited a house in Sunderland, UK, from an uncle she stayed with every summer as a child, until she was in high school. She was raised in Boston, graduated from University of Massachusetts with a Ph.D. in psychology. Works out of a home office next to her garage.”

Zane glanced down at the notes he’d made on his iPad. “Eve was married for two years, divorced a year ago.” He looked up. “Apparently, she decided to change her life and moved into the home her uncle left her in his will.”

“Any history of mental illness?” Ran asked.

“She’s a psychologist. Aside from that, no history of mental disorders.” Zane grinned at his joke, and everyone laughed.

Looked like Zane Tanner had a sense of humor, Ran thought with amusement.

“When did the uncle die?” Ran asked, knowing trauma could lead to hallucinations or other psychosis.

“George St. Clair, her grandmother’s younger brother, passed away six months ago in his sleep. Death certificate reports it was an aneurysm.”

“So she moved in six months ago?” Katie asked.

Zane shook his head. “With probate and transitioning from Boston to England, she’s only lived in the house two months.”

It took time to adjust to a new home. Clearly Eve St. Clair wasn’t used to her surroundings. Which could be important. Or not.

“I looked at the dwelling on Google Earth,” Ran said. “Two-story redbrick structure with white trim. Looks like something built in the early twentieth century, nineteen twenties, I’d guess. Nothing particularly unusual about it.”

“But you think it’s worth a trip to Europe to check it out,” Katie said.

“I spoke to Eve on the phone.” Not something he usually did. He usually let the team follow up after the initial email contact. This time he’d phoned the prospective client himself, spoken to her via a FaceTime call.

“There was something about her,” Ran said. “She’s a doctor of psychology. She doesn’t want people to think she’s crazy, but she’s definitely afraid. As far as I can tell, she has no one she feels she can trust with this, and no one else she can turn to. If the problem is real, I’d like to help.”

Jesse flashed a wide white smile. “Good enough for me.” That was their primary mission—aiding people with paranormal problems, people who couldn’t find help anywhere else. “Worst case, she’s a fraud. No ghosts but a chance to see England.”

“When do we leave?” Katie asked, eager as always.

“Anyone have a reason they can’t fly out tonight?” Ran asked.

Nobody’s hand went up.

Ran nodded his approval. “The Gulfstream will be ready to leave Boeing Field at eight p.m. You’ll arrive at the Newcastle Airport two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. There’ll be a car waiting to take you to the Grand Hotel Sunderland. The hotel’s only ten minutes away from the destination property. The car and driver will be at your service as long as you’re there.” He glanced around the table. “Any questions so far?”

“No, sir,” Connie said. She flashed a warning glance at the others. “They’ll be ready to leave at eight p.m.”

Ran nodded. “Great, I’ll meet you there.”

Violet’s silver-haired head came up. “You’re going with us?”

“I may not stay, but I’m going over for the initial contact.” Ran rose from his chair. “I’ll leave the details to Connie.” He turned away from the group, long strides carrying him across the room. He wasn’t a man who wasted energy.

Pausing at the door, he turned back. “One thing you should know about Zane.” A faint smile touched his lips. “Zane doesn’t believe in ghosts.”

Jesse bellowed a laugh.

Katie grinned. “This should be interesting.”

“Zane’s objectivity is one of the reasons I brought him aboard. I’ll see you tonight.” Ran walked out of the room and firmly closed the door.

THE PASSENGERS BEGAN TO STIR AS THE KING ENTERPRISES GULFSTREAM G550 began its initial descent into Newcastle International Airport.

Jesse and Katie were still asleep on the long cream leather sofas facing each other in the rear section of the aircraft. Ran had slept for a while, kicked back in one of the wide leather chairs. Now he sat at the burlwood table in the middle section, while Zane stretched out watching a movie in one of the front compartment seats.

The Gulfstream could comfortably accommodate up to fourteen passengers. The King Enterprises’s forty-million-dollar jet was configured so that the rear section, with its own separate bathroom, could be closed off and used as a bedroom.

For a moment, Ran’s thoughts went to the woman he had met via FaceTime—Eve St. Clair. Her eyes were hazel and seemed to switch mercurially from green to dark brown. Her hair was so dark it looked black, with interesting ruby highlights. Like her eyes, the glints of garnet seemed to shift back and forth as she moved.

Even with an ocean between them, he’d felt a pull toward her. As he’d thought before, Eve St. Clair intrigued him. Ran wasn’t a man easily intrigued by a woman.

His thoughts moved from what lay ahead to the luxury provided by the company jet. He smiled. Working for him definitely had its perks.

The job also came with plenty of emotional stress.

They were working in a world few people knew anything about. Along with the physical labor of hauling around and setting up the fragile equipment required to do a paranormal investigation, there were emotions to deal with, those of the client as well as those of the spirits stuck in the earthly realm.

Along with the others, Zane would be joining the team, doing some of the research, as he had done today, and, being former military, providing security when needed.

Violet’s job as a sensitive was to feel the presence of energy, to interact with what people referred to as spirits or ghosts. There were any number of names for her skills.

Clairsentience meant heightened awareness or an exaggerated sixth sense, which was different from an empath, who could feel other people’s emotions, even psychically communicate with spirits.

A medium was sort of a catch-all phrase for someone who facilitated communication between spirits or ghosts and living human beings, relaying messages from the dead, or at least that was the goal.

Aside from the people he trusted, Ran still wasn’t sure how much of it was real.

He thought back to when his experiment had begun five years earlier. Guilt over the death of his wife and child had compelled him to seek answers. Was there life after death? Did heaven and hell actually exist? Was his family now safely in the hands of God? Did God even exist?

He was still searching for answers. Maybe he would find more of them in England.

The jet rolled to a stop and the sound of seat belts popping open combined with tired sighs. The eleven-hour flight and subsequent time change was exhausting. Grabbing their personal items, jackets, and laptops, the team disembarked.

The scientific equipment needed for their research would be unloaded and transported via a separate vehicle to their hotel.

As Ran stepped down on the tarmac, a sullen gray sky hung bleakly overhead. The early May air felt damp and cold. Knowing his expectations, Connie had arranged transportation; a white Bentley Grand limo rolled toward them across the tarmac. The chauffer, in a crisp black suit and white shirt, opened the passenger door, allowing the five of them to settle into red leather seats facing each other while the driver, a slender, gray-haired man who introduced himself as Willard, loaded their luggage into the trunk.

“Wow,” Zane said, clearly impressed as he glanced around the interior, illuminated by subtle blue lights.

“Yeah,” Jesse said. “The boss has expensive taste.”

“Best thing about our job is the perks,” Katie said, grinning at Ran.

But the hard part lay ahead, dealing with the unknown, confronting what might be hiding in the darkness beyond their perception. Finding out the truth and giving comfort to the people forced to live with whatever taunted them from the shadows.

Ran settled back in the deep leather seat for the thirty-plus minute ride from the airport to the Grand Hotel Sunderland, an upscale hotel in the area. It wasn’t far from the St. Clair house and, best of all, faced the sea.

They discussed the upcoming case on the way to the hotel, arrived as planned, and walked into the high-ceilinged lobby, done mostly in white with blue and gray accents. After an efficient check-in, they received their key cards.

“I’ll phone Dr. St. Clair,” Ran said. “Let her know we’ve arrived.”

“Connie scheduled Zane and Violet to go over early and do the initial interview,” Katie said. “If everything checks out, Jesse and I will go over later and set up the equipment.”

Ran nodded, turned to Zane. “We need to be sure there are no security problems.” Which included a woman who might have mental issues—or worse. Until they knew for sure, Ran never took chances.

“I’ve got my permits all lined up,” Zane said. “I’ll be able to carry a weapon.”

Ran nodded, his attention on Zane and Violet. “I’ll be joining you.”

Violet just smiled. It wasn’t part of the original plan, but after working with Ran for so long, she had learned to be flexible.

“In the meantime,” Ran said, “unless you have something more you need to do, I suggest you go upstairs and unpack, maybe catch a nap.”

“I could use a nap,” Katie said, yawning.

Ran’s gaze returned to Violet and Zane. “Dr. St. Clair is expecting us at seven. Let’s meet for a quick bite in the restaurant . . . say six p.m.?”

“Sounds good,” Zane said.

Ran appreciated Zane’s strictly business attitude. No flirting with Katie or off-color remarks, nothing out of line. He was a good-looking man, one who seemed to have the confidence that didn’t require constant ego reinforcement.

But then, Ran had known all about Zane Tanner before he had hired him. He figured he knew more about his employees than most of them knew about themselves.

Katie yawned again. “That nap is sounding better and better.” E. . .