Things get a little twisted for the Uncharted Territory crew when they investigate the Winchester House in San Jose, California. Doors go to nowhere, hallways lead to deadly drop-offs, a ghostly sound of constant construction, and another dimension dwells beneath the facade.
Bethany is raw after the Alcatraz investigation and is exploring her ideas of commitment when a new man comes onto the scene. Self-sabotage in the love department isn't new to her, but will this folly prove too destructive even for her? The ghost of Ms Winchester herself confronts Bethany in a stand-off that could lead to losing Josh forever.
Josh tries not to let the distraction of a possible competitor distract him from a complicated paranormal investigation, but when he falls into another dimension and ends up in the 1800s--without Bethany--his only hope is that she is able to rescue him before it's too late.
**This is book four of the Uncharted Territory erotic paranormal romance suspense series. It contains explicit sexual content and adult themes**
"Damn it, Josh, they're prying open the door." Don looked over his shoulder as wood splinters fell down on them from where men continued to break open the door above them.
"Panic solves nothing," Josh muttered as he pulled a shelving unit from the wall and noticed what appeared to be a metal door. "Here. Let's open this."
"What is it?"
"Hell if I know!" He glared at his friend, desperately wishing he were with Bethany. At least she knew how to act in a crisis. "It's either open this or wait for the pitchfork brigade to string us up for trespassing or whatever crime they're sure to charge us with."
Don stumbled over the fallen shelves and used his fingernails to pry open the door. With a heave, they pulled the metal door free and stared into a gaping hole.
Josh pushed Don ahead of him and followed on his heels. "Just go straight, buddy, and don't stop unless you have to. We need to move fast."
"Stop shoving me! No wonder Beth and you fight all the time. You're a bully when on a mission."
"You whine like a child and it's not doing us any good. Keep going." He pushed his friend again and prayed like mad they wouldn't get stuck wherever the hell they were.
"It's a door." Don stopped abruptly and pushed him back. "Damn it, Josh, you're pissing me off. Shove me one more time and we're going to have a fight, understand me?"
"Seriously? You're doing this now?" He wiggled his way in front of Don and tried the door himself. When it opened, he breathed a sigh of relief, stepped through, and yanked Don through with him. Dirty fingers fumbled for the lock that he slid into place.
"I left the camera."
"What?" Panting, he spun around and faced Don through the darkness. "Where?"
"Where do you think?" Don hissed through clenched teeth. He jabbed his fingers through the air. "Back. There."
"Fuck it, what's wrong with you? Are you incapable of thinking on the fly? Why are you on this team in the first place if you can't deal with crisis mode?"
"I'm not the star of the fucking show. I'm the cameraman."
"Yeah, the cameraman who forgot his damn camera in another dimension. What if you just changed history? What if we open the next door and neither of us exist anymore?"
"You've seen one too many movies, man." Don switched on his flashlight and cast the beam around the room. Another stairway, this time leading down, sat at the other end of the room.
They both ran for it just as pounding started from the door behind them.
"Go!" He shoved Don's shoulders when the man hesitated.
Don shone the flashlight directly in his face. "I swear, man, when we're out of here, it's you and me in the parking lot, got it?"
"Gladly. Move your ass."
They ran down the stairs, through another door and into a long hallway that stretched endlessly in both directions.
"Where do we go?" Don asked.
Knowing it was up to him to make a decision—and that he'd be the one taking the blame if it was the wrong one—he turned right and left it to Don to keep up. When they reached another door, this one made of elaborate carved wood, he dropped his head against it and pounded until his fist ached from the force of the blows.
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