Sinister Sanctuary

by Colleen Gleason

  As if it had been moved.

  “How did we not notice this before?” she said, watching for loose stones and snakes in the overgrown garden as she made her way toward the lattice. After all, Bruce Banner had hiked his leg over it just a few days ago.

  She wished for gloves, but had no idea where to find any on site, so she had to move very gingerly as she investigated. But when she got close enough to see behind the lattice, Teddy very nearly lost her shit and fell into the prickly roses—for there, behind the climbing rose, was a door.

  A door that led right into the base of the lighthouse.

  And in the dirt below, she could see a gentle groove where the lattice had been pushed aside like a sliding door. Someone had been here. Recently. She shivered, then felt ill.

  Had they come into the cottage this way?

  She looked around in case whoever it was had come back, or was lurking in the woods beyond. No sign of anyone, but the light was fading due to the gathering storm clouds.

  Teddy turned back to the door, carefully slipping between the lattice and the lighthouse wall, and just as she reached for the knob, a loud crack of thunder startled her.

  It was so unexpected and creepy that she shrieked, jolted, and stumbled against the rosebush.

  “Ouch!” she cried, extricating herself from a set of really ugly thorns—big, honking, sharp ones that left scrapes and welts as well as punctures in her arm and shoulder.

  Cursing at the obnoxious thing, she glanced up at the sky—it wasn’t that dark yet, and despite the thunder, it wasn’t raining—and made a quick decision to run inside and put on better clothing. And, she thought as inspiration struck, she’d grab a couple of oven mitts.

  Garbed in a hoodie, jeans, and athletic shoes to protect herself from the thorns, Teddy was back outside forty minutes later (she’d had to call her agent back after finding a message of congratulations on her mobile phone). This time, she brought a flashlight she’d found in a drawer in the kitchen, along with the ring of keys she’d used when accessing the lantern room of the lighthouse.

  It would be a long shot if one of those keys fit the doorknob, but she had to try.

  But when she inched her way behind the lattice and carefully grasped the knob, she found the door wasn’t even locked. Her heart thudding with excitement and nervousness, she carefully pushed it open and beamed the flashlight inside.

  Instead of the dusty, abandoned room she’d half expected to find, Teddy discovered about a half-dozen large plastic storage tubs that shone dust-free in the dim light. Assured that the room was empty of anything living (at least larger than a mouse), she slipped inside and shined the light around.

  It was a small room with the exterior wall slightly rounded, and two other partitions joining at a sharp angle, making the space the shape of a pie quarter. Since it lacked windows, she concluded it was just a storage room—probably used at one time for lawn tools. But someone had been there recently, because the storage bins were obviously new.

  She was about to lift the lid on a bin when the beam of her flashlight fell along one of the two interior walls, revealing an unobtrusive door near their juncture. From its position, she knew it had to lead to the inside of the lighthouse. With her heart in her throat, Teddy abandoned the unopened plastic tub and eased over to the door that was tucked into the dark shadows of the room.

  She wasn’t worried about stepping on mice or walking into spider webs or anything like that. She was afraid she’d discover that the door had been used.

  And that it led in to where she slept.

  Get a grip, Mack, she told herself. There’s no one around but you, and no one’s going to be out on the lake with a thunderstorm coming.

  At least if she determined where the door opened into the lighthouse, she could block it off so no one could get back in.

  A shivery mess, with her insides twisting unpleasantly—why did Oscar have to leave before she found this?—Teddy examined the door.

  She swallowed hard when she shined the light on a new padlock that dangled from the latch keeping the door closed. Her hands went a little damp, and a sudden ka-boom! of thunder shook the walls around her.

  Okay. She was done playing Nancy Drew.

  She could come back when it wasn’t dark, rainy, and creepy.

  Teddy hurried back out of the pie-slice room, narrowly missing the thorny rosebush, and quickly maneuvered the lattice back into place. Whoever was using it didn’t need to know she’d discovered the hiding place—for whatever was in the plastic bins.

  Damn. She should probably have at least stayed to look inside one of them.

  But by this time, the rain had started to pour and lightning was streaking across the sky. The clouds churned as if some angry god was stirring a black stew, and Teddy, more spooked than she wanted to admit, ran back to the cottage and slammed its door behind her. Then she locked it.

  After that, she went through the entire place and turned on lights in every room, checked in every closet, and under every bed, just to make sure she was really alone.

  She went through the curve-topped connecting door to the lighthouse side and, her heart thudding painfully, her palms nervously damp, she tried to determine where the door from the secret room opened. But she was directionally challenged, and a little anxious besides, and she wasn’t certain where the adjacent wall—if there was one—was. The circular building made it confusing.

  So she settled for turning on all the lights on that side as well. “It’s like a runway in here,” she said, because she needed to hear the sound of her voice.

  But in the end, Teddy didn’t want to stay over there, so she brought her clothes and other stuff from that part of the cottage. She locked the connecting door and pushed the couch in front of it to block it off.

  All the while, she told herself it was ridiculous to be that spooked. There could be a million different explanations for everything—she was a storyteller; she knew that was true.

  She’d just managed to calm her fears (comfort-watching Taylor Kitsch and Kyle Chandler on Friday Night Lights helped) and settled down with a celebratory glass of wine and a piece of frozen pizza when there was a terrifying crack of nearby lightning…and the lights went out.

  Everything went black.

  Oscar saw the great streak of lightning as it bolted through the sky above his Jeep. The horrifying, sharp crack when it struck was like nothing he’d ever heard: deafening and malevolent, and very, very close.

  In the rearview mirror, he saw the tree split and, in a shower of sparks, tumble to the ground, taking a power line with it.

  And just missing the rear bumper of his Jeep.

  His heart in his throat, his eyes wide, his mouth open in a silent shout, Oscar slammed his foot on the accelerator. The vehicle surged forward on the muddy road, careening sloppily to the right. Unfortunately, one tire slipped off the edge of the road into the soft, low shoulder of the two-lane track. The Jeep shuddered as it twisted and slid deep into soft mud and sand. Then there was a soft sigh as it settled in and halted.

  But Oscar hardly noticed, as his eyes were still on the rearview mirror, staring at the carnage of tree and sizzling power line only yards away.

  If he’d been driving slightly slower, the tree—or the lightning—would have shattered his car.

  It took him several minutes to calm his racing heart and allow himself to breathe again.

  Okay. He checked himself, pinched an arm, blinked hard. Still alive.

  Then he realized he was stuck.

  But still alive.

  He didn’t have a four-wheel-drive Jeep Cherokee for nothing, he told himself, so he tried to extricate the vehicle from its predicament by gunning the engine and rocking the car back and forth.

  But the rain was so heavy and had soaked the ground so much, and the wheel had already twisted and turned as it sank, that it was only a few minutes before he realized the tires were just spinning wildly and throwing up a lot of mud. There was no getting out
without a tow truck.

  Damn.

  The storm lashed at the windows and a few smaller branches tumbled from trees, skittering across the path in front of him, and once even across the roof of the Jeep.

  Can’t go forward, can’t go backward, he thought—and was reminded of an old campfire story-song from his Scouting days. “Can’t go over it, can’t go under it…gotta go riiiiight through it.”

  Right through the storm.

  He muttered the words to himself as he considered his options. The lighthouse and cottage were only another half-mile or so down this miserable lane, now that he’d crossed over the bridge from the mainland. Of course, having been a Scout, and still the Be Prepared type, he had not only an umbrella but a rain slicker in his Jeep.

  Just hope I don’t get nailed by another streak of lightning, he thought grimly as he dug around for the raincoat from the front seat. At least I’m wearing rubber-soled shoes. Maybe I should leave the umbrella here—not liking the idea of carrying a long metal implement as I run through a storm.

  With that running mental commentary, he at last located the dark blue slicker and struggled into it while seated in the driver’s seat.

  The only reason he was truly considering making a break for the cottage was because if Teddy was there, he didn’t want her left alone in this ugly storm.

  Well, and he wanted to see her.

  Badly.

  Badly enough to risk dashing through a storm.

  Fourteen

  Teddy told herself it wasn’t really all that bad, with the power out, here on this remote little island, miles from anyone.

  Her laptop was charged, and so was her Wi-Fi hub, so at least she could still watch Tim Riggins and his tight end in the Dillon Panthers football uniform.

  Plus, she had a few books tucked away that she was supposed to read—one of which she was really looking forward to, because it was the latest Marina Alexander adventure. She’d saved it as a reward for finishing her book, and now she could dive in without feeling guilty.

  Teddy had the flashlight, and she was certain she’d seen some candles in the drawer in the kitchen when she’d been looking for scissors a few days ago. That would help brighten things up a little.

  But the wind whipped at the cottage, and the place shook with every renewed gust of wind. With the crashes of thunder sounding like a hundred massive plates tumbling to a tile floor, and the mean streaks of lightning scarring the sky, Teddy felt frighteningly isolated and more than a little nervous.

  Still, she managed not to work herself up too much. “It’s good research,” she told herself—aloud again, for obvious reasons. “Now I’ll know exactly how someone feels when they’re stranded in an unfamiliar place in the middle of nowhere with a terrible storm raging around. At least I won’t have to worry about anyone breaking in in this weather— Ah—!”

  She choked back most of the scream as her heart leapt into her throat. She darted to her feet, staring at the dark, shadowy figure running toward the cottage.

  “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod,” she whispered, looking around for something to use as a weapon. A broom. A tennis racket. A chair.

  A knife! From the kitchen. And a frying pan, because, well, blood.

  She bolted into the kitchen, hunkering down as she ran in a probably vain effort to keep from being seen by her soon-to-be attacker.

  By now, the figure had reached the door, and she heard it rattling in its hinges.

  And then, as she lifted the heavy frying pan, she heard the most terrifying noise of all: the sound of a key being fit in the lock.

  Ohmigod.

  Okay.

  Stay calm.

  But her knees were watery and her heart was pounding so hard that she thought she might faint. Images from The Shining tore through her fertile mind as she ducked behind the edge of the kitchen door, holding the frying pan at the ready.

  Maybe, with the lights out, the intruder wouldn’t know she was there. She could take him by surprise, and clock him with—

  Oh, damn, her laptop was open and on…the screen was a dead giveaway.

  Dead.

  Don’t think about that right now, Mack.

  Her thoughts went in hysterical loops, and Teddy realized right then and there that she much preferred writing about dangerous, scary, suspenseful scenes than living them.

  The door eased open, and the figure—tall, dripping, wearing something shiny and dark that covered him from head to knee—stepped in.

  She nearly fainted when she saw him look directly at the laptop screen.

  “Teddy?” the figure called. “Are you here?”

  She nearly shrieked with relief. And shock. In fact, she dropped the damned frying pan from shaking fingers. It landed on her toe.

  “Ow! Oscar?”

  “Teddy! What are you doing in the dar— Oh, the power line.” He pushed back his hood, then stripped off the dripping rain slicker.

  She dropped the knife on the kitchen counter—no need for him to know about that; she was cool as a cucumber—and stepped over the frying pan.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” she cried, with all the vehemence of pent-up nerves mingled with wild relief.

  “I…” He seemed ill at ease, but it was difficult in the dim light, cast only by her computer screen, to read his expression. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have any way to reach you. I—I forgot to leave my key.” He held up the offending item, the little metal object that had nearly given her a heart attack when he’d slipped it into the lock.

  She managed to find her voice. “You came back because you forgot to leave your key?”

  Okay, that wasn’t what she was hoping for—in the twenty seconds she’d had to assimilate that Oscar had returned—but at least she wasn’t here alone anymore. Even if he was a jerk.

  “No, I came back— I came back because—well, I realized I left in a hurry, and we were sort of…in the middle—or, at least, the beginning of something.” He toed off his boots and stood uncertainly in the center of the shadowy room. “I came back because I wanted to know what that something was. If anything.”

  Oh thank God.

  Teddy thought that, but she didn’t act upon it. Not right away.

  Until her legs carried her across the room and she slid into his embrace.

  “I’m glad you came back,” she said as his arms came around her. “For a number of reasons—not the least of which being it’s really effing nerve-racking being here by myself during this damned storm. With no power. And ghosts around. And people breaking in.”

  “Oh, Teddy,” he murmured with a quiet chuckle. He folded her tightly against his cold, rain-scented body. “I was so bloody stupid.”

  The next thing she knew, he was kissing her. Really kissing her—as if he was dying, or as if he never needed to breathe again.

  Her thoughts dissolved and she was only aware of Oscar: his strong, sure hands, his mouth, the solidness of his body, the taste and scent of him. Her eyes closed and she tipped her head back as he slid his mouth along the edge of her jaw, nibbling and nuzzling that sensitive spot beneath her ear. His mouth was doing insanely delicious things to her, sending hot shivers through her body, making her hair rise gently along the back of her neck.

  At last, a particularly violent crack of thunder brought her back to her senses—and the realization that she did, in fact, need to breathe—and Teddy eased back.

  “We should—uh—catch up on a few things,” she said, reaching up to brush that stubborn lock of hair back from his forehead.

  “Probably a good idea. Um…do I smell pizza? I was in a hurry to get back, so I didn’t stop to eat.”

  He’d been in a hurry to get back? Teddy smiled to herself as she replied, “It was frozen, but tasted pretty good—and fortunately, I finished heating it before the power went out.”

  “Speaking of which, I’m pretty sure I saw the lightning hit the tree that took down the power line,” Oscar said. He went on to explain how his Jeep
had nearly been fried, and why he’d been walking to the cottage and not driving.

  “I’m not ashamed to say it freaked the hell out of me when I saw you running up to the house, all shadowy and dark,” she said, pulling down a plate and glass for him with help from the light he was shining from the flashlight.

  “Yes, I can imagine. I saw candles in the drawer over here,” Oscar said, and took the flashlight over to search. “And tomorrow I can get the generator running.”

  “There’s a generator? How did you know that?”

  He gave her a pitying look over the flames of the four pillar candles he was lighting. “I wasn’t going to stay in a place with all of my lab equipment if there was a chance the power would go out for any length of time. I couldn’t chance my samples getting ruined.”

  She shook her head. “Why am I surprised? You brought your own refrigerator, after all.”

  “I would have brought my own generator if necessary,” he replied, setting the candles up on the kitchen table. “Fortunately, it wasn’t, or I’d have had to leave the centrifuge at home because it all wouldn’t have fit in my Jeep.”

  “Of course you would have.” Teddy shook her head as another boom of thunder rattled the dishes in the cupboards.

  “Well, since we’re on a well out here in the sticks, without power, there’s no water—or toilet,” he said.

  Teddy froze. “What?” She was standing by the sink and twisted the spigot sharply to prove him wrong. Nothing came out but a small blurp of water, then a gurgle. “No water?”

  Now she had another reason to be thankful Oscar had come back. She’d have had no idea about the water (or toilet) and certainly no idea about setting up the generator. She lived in Manhattan, for pity’s sake.

  “We can use a bucket of water to flush the toilet if necessary,” he said around the piece of pizza he was devouring. “So don’t panic too much. There’s a lake right out there, don’t forget. Oh, I forgot—there’s a hand pump in the garden. That would be much more convenient.”

  Right. Like she wanted to discuss bathroom procedures with the guy whose bones she wanted to jump…