by Jana DeLeon
We? The last thing he needed was the cagey heiress lingering over his shoulder while he cased the house, especially now that his mind had formed a permanent imprint of her absolutely perfect rear end. But before he could formulate a logical argument, she spun around and headed to the kitchen, then came right back with a pad of paper and a pen.
“It will probably go faster if you dictate as you go,” she said. “I can make the notes. That way you don’t have to stop what you’re doing to write.”
He nodded, unable to argue with the efficiency her plan presented. “I assume you have a basic idea of the layout, so lead the way.”
She pointed to rooms that lined the south side of the house. “We can start over there and work our way around.”
He followed her into the first room and was pleased to find it only contained a table, dresser and a couple of boxes. The west window was intact, but a sheet of plywood covered the wall where he guessed a south-facing window was located. “What happened here?” he asked, pointing to the plywood.
“I haven’t asked about it yet, but I assume the guy who attacked my sister broke it to get inside. The plywood covering it looks new.”
He stared at her. “Someone attacked your sister in the house?”
“Yeah.” She frowned then shook her head. “I guess I forget it’s just hitting the news this morning. He attacked her here but she ran into the swamp and got away. He caught up with her trying to get away in her SUV, and that’s when Carter shot and killed him.”
He stared at her for a moment, trying to absorb the implications of trying to keep his cover intact at a crime scene. This entire situation was becoming more complicated by the minute. “Wow! Is she all right?”
“She’s fine.” Danae cocked her head to the side and studied him for a moment. “Most people would ask who was trying to kill her and why.”
“You said it just hit the news. I can catch up on the local gossip later. I have a younger cousin who’s more like a brother to me. I guess I was thinking about something happening to him.”
“Are you always this logical?”
“I try to be. It seems to make life easier.”
“Well, then, I guess we best get back to this list. I don’t want to throw you off course.”
He crossed to the intact window and studied it. “I’ll have to remove the plywood to check the dimensions, so I’ll leave off replacing the window for later. I’m going to have to special-order something to even come close to matching the others, but I know a guy in New Orleans who specializes in making windows for restoration projects. I can get some pictures tomorrow and see what he can do.”
He reached up for the latches and opened the window, then pulled it upward, but it stayed firmly in place. It only took a moment to realize the sliding pane of the window had been nailed into the frame. The oxidation on the edges of the nails let him know that wasn’t a recent addition.
“This window is nailed shut,” he said.
“Yeah. They all are. I suppose my stepfather was agoraphobic and paranoid.”
“He didn’t want out and didn’t want anyone else in.” He shook his head. “That’s no way to live. I’ll remove the nails tomorrow—test all the windows and make sure they lift properly.”
“No!”
The single word came out with such force that he spun around, surprised. She stood with her arms crossed. Her face was slightly flushed and her jaw set in a hard line.
“I can’t test the windows if they’re nailed shut.”
“Then I guess they won’t get tested—not as long as I’m working in this house. At least this way, if someone wants to get in here, I’ll hear them coming or see the results of their attempt the next morning. What I don’t want is for someone to have the element of surprise.”
He studied her for a moment. Had he misjudged her? He’d thought her suspicious and hypercautious, but could Danae be tipping into the same realm of madness that her stepfather had lived the last of his life in?
“Are you expecting trouble?” he asked.
“No,” she said a little too quickly. “It’s just that the house is full of valuable antiques and if word gets out it’s empty at night...”
She was lying. She was very, very good at it, but he’d employed too many ex-cons to recognize a snow job when he was getting one. The house was full of antiques, and he suspected a lot of them were valuable, but that wasn’t the reason she was worried about intruders.
Maybe Danae had brought trouble with her to Calais. Maybe she was afraid that trouble was about to catch up with her. Either way, in addition to tiptoeing around with his own agenda, he was going to have to constantly look over his own shoulder, watching for whatever the heiress was hiding from.
“Okay,” he said finally. “It’s your house.”
He motioned to a door in the corner behind her. “Bathroom or closet?”
“Closet, I think. I’m sorry. There’re so many rooms, I haven’t gotten everything straight yet.”
She turned and pulled the door open. As soon as she did, a stack of boxes tilted out and toppled onto her, sending her reeling backward. Mice scattered across the floor, scurrying in every direction, looking for an escape.
He rushed forward, catching her before she crashed to the ground. She’d twisted her body in anticipation of the fall, trying to reach for the floor before slamming into it. Now she was gathered in his arms, the front of her toned, curvy body pressed against him. That beautiful face looking up at him—so strong, yet vulnerable.
It was a bad idea, but before he could talk himself out of it, he lowered his lips to hers.
Her lips were soft and pliant as he caressed them with his own, and he felt a surge of excitement go through him that he hadn’t felt before from a simple kiss. He pressed harder, deepening the kiss, and was almost surprised when she responded, her lips searching his.
Then suddenly, she jumped up and backed away from him, one hand over her mouth. She stared at him, her face flushed, her expression a mixture of shock and anxiety.
“You should finish this yourself.” She whirled around and practically ran out of the room.
He stared at the empty doorway, trying to decide if he’d been a genius or a fool. On one hand, he’d probably prevented her from asking more intrusive questions about his life. Clearly, she wanted to avoid anything personal.
On the other hand, he’d enjoyed that kiss entirely too much for his own comfort.
Get in gear, Sargent!
He grabbed the paper and pen and hustled out of the room, his mind suddenly latching onto the golden opportunity she’d presented. For the first time since he’d entered the property, Danae wasn’t looking over his shoulder. She was flustered enough to rush off, so with any luck, she’d remain far away until he sought her out. That gave him a window of opportunity to create an entry into the home.
The one functional window in the first room had led straight into a huge, thorny rosebush, so it wasn’t an option. He hoped his luck would be better in the second room, but it had furniture and boxes stacked to the ceiling and he could barely squeeze inside. No feasible way to reach the windows existed, so he continued to the next room. This one wasn’t quite as cluttered, but it still contained stacks of paper, boxes and small furniture. He lifted several boxes away from the wall where he guessed the window was located and was pleased to find only two nails through the frame.
He hurried back to the doorway and glanced around the entry, then pulled out his pocketknife and began working the first nail from the frame. Every time the knife blade slipped from under the nail’s head, he mentally cursed and wished for the pry bar in his truck, but no way was he risking the opportunity by leaving the house to get it.
Finally, the first nail worked out of the frame and he checked the entry again before starting on the second nail. This one was deeper, leaving creases in the hardwood where it had been pounded into the frame, and he struggled to get even a tiny piece of his knife blade underneath.
&
nbsp; Suddenly, there was a loud thud overhead and he froze before closing the pocketknife and shoving it into his jeans pocket. Then he dashed back to the front of the room and grabbed the paper and pen. He peered out the door, but saw no sign of Danae. Then a second thud echoed across the entry from above, letting him know someone was moving around upstairs.
Surely it was Danae working upstairs. He started to run back to the window to finish up but hesitated. Seconds later, Danae rushed into the entry from the kitchen hallway, her eyes wide.
Chapter Six
“Did you drop something?” Danae asked, her voice shaking slightly.
Zach shook his head and put one finger over his lips then pointed at the ceiling. Her eyes widened and she sucked in a breath. Then the split second of fear was gone and her expression hardened as she pulled a nine millimeter from her waistband.
He didn’t even bother to control his surprise. Minutes before, he’d had the woman wrapped in his arms and hadn’t even known she was packing serious firepower. Before he could even formulate a plan, she slipped silently across the entry and up the staircase. He hesitated only a second before hurrying behind her, cursing that his pistol was locked away in his truck along with his pry bar.
He caught up with her at the top of the stairs and pointed at the far end of the hallway to the right, where he thought the noise might have originated. She nodded and hurried down the hall, using the carpeted runner in the middle of the hallway to mask her footsteps.
Zach peered into each room as they passed, but if anyone was hiding inside, it would have taken more than a peek to discover them. The rooms were just as crowded with boxes and furniture as the downstairs rooms he’d seen. As they reached the last door, Danae stopped and looked back at him. He gave her a nod, and she sprang around the doorway, gun leveled.
He was only a millisecond behind her, but his expertly executed timing was useless. This time, it was clear the room was empty, even with only the dim lighting from the entry to illuminate it. Purcell’s office, he thought, as he stepped inside. A huge ornate desk stood in the center of the room, a massive chair with faded, cracked leather positioned behind it. The walls were completely covered with bookcases that were overflowing with books and paper. Plastic containers, also filled with paper, littered most of the floor, leaving only a narrow pathway behind the desk and to the far corner.
“That’s the entry to the master bedroom,” Danae whispered and pointed to the corner where the path ended.
He squinted into the shadows and realized that the last bookcase didn’t meet quite right with the back wall. He stepped across the room and peered into an even darker room beyond the office, unable to make out anything but the faint form of bedroom furniture.
“Do you have a flashlight?” he asked.
“Downstairs, but it wouldn’t matter. If anyone was here, he’s gone now.”
“Gone where?”
“There’s a servants’ staircase at the back of the bedroom. It leads downstairs into the hallway off the laundry room. I found it earlier today.”
Zach clenched his pocketknife, trying to process the information. “Something caused those thumps and it wasn’t footsteps.”
He walked back across the office, scanning the floor as he went, then indicated two cardboard boxes dumped sideways on the floor at the edge of the desk. The sides were split in two and the papers inside were scattered across the floor.
“Maybe it was those boxes,” he said.
Danae looked over at the boxes, then up at the desk and nodded. “I saw those there earlier. I intended to take them home with me tonight.”
“Did you place them too close to the edge?”
She stared at the desk and frowned. “They were already there, but maybe they were close to the edge. I was distracted when I was up here.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I can see why. You were right.”
“About what?”
“This room is creepy.” He fingered a stack of papers hanging off the end of a bookcase, suspended in place by a paperweight. “It’s like looking at the culmination of one man’s madness. I’m guessing the bedroom is no better.”
“I’ve only seen it by flashlight, but I’m going to go with a ‘definitely not better’ on that one.”
Zach ran one hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “Let’s go check the doors downstairs—make sure they’re all still locked.”
“Good idea.” She grabbed a stack of the files from the floor and rushed out of the office like a shot.
Zach gave the gloomy room one more glance and hurried behind her. He hadn’t been lying to pacify her. Something about those two rooms felt off. Since he’d taken his first step inside, he’d had the overwhelming feeling that he needed to leave. He was glad he didn’t have to ignore it any longer.
Danae led the way, and it only took minutes to check the downstairs doors. Only minutes to ascertain that all were locked tight and showed no signs of recent passage. Danae stepped out of the laundry room and walked slowly back to the entry, frowning the entire way.
“Maybe the boxes were too close to the edge of the desk,” she said finally.
“You didn’t think so earlier.”
She blew out a breath, clearly frustrated. “I can’t be sure. I told you earlier I didn’t like the room. I know it’s stupid, but I accidentally moved them earlier when I was doing a cursory review. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention like I thought I was.”
“Maybe,” he agreed, but he wasn’t convinced that was the case.
“That has to be it, because there’s no way he could have left the house.” She nodded. “That’s got to be it.”
She shoved the pistol back into her waistband. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go ahead and wrap things up here. I have some things I need to take care of this evening.”
“Sure.”
She gave him a nod and started down the hall toward the kitchen. Zach watched her walk away and frowned. He wasn’t at all convinced that she’d moved the boxes too close to the edge, but he wasn’t about to tell her his theory.
That whoever was upstairs was still in the house.
* * *
DANAE PULLED UP in front of her cabin in the woods and hurried inside. As soon as she pushed the door shut behind her, she shoved the dead bolt into place and leaned back against the old wooden frame, taking a minute to catch her breath. She’d seen nothing when she pulled up in front of the cabin, nor while she dashed inside, but she couldn’t seem to shake the panicked feeling she’d carried with her most of the day.
She pushed herself away from the wall and walked the few steps into the tiny kitchen to dump a stack of files from the house on her breakfast table. Only yesterday, she’d restocked her refrigerator with bottled water, and she pulled one out and took a big gulp, the cold liquid burning the back of her dry throat.
The events of the day raced through her mind on high speed. Had it really been only a day? So much had happened that it seemed as if it had taken far longer than the mere ten hours that had passed since she’d burst into William’s office and announced her true identity.
You’re losing it.
She didn’t want to believe it—didn’t want to think that the girl who had lived on her own at fifteen was falling apart over a spooky old house and an unlocked door. But as hard as she worked to dismiss everything as oversight and an overactive, overly stressed imagination, she couldn’t ignore the fact that her entire mind and body screamed at her that something wasn’t right.
Maybe some of the things that had happened today had been coincidence—like the boxes falling in the office. But what about the open laundry-room door she’d found earlier that day? The one that had prompted her call to Carter?
He hadn’t taken her concerns lightly, nor had he even remotely appeared as if he thought she’d imagined the entire thing. In fact, he’d been adamant about not wanting her in the house alone and had appeared relieved when she mentioned the contractor who would be starting work there
the next morning. Carter was logical, direct and not prone to fanciful thinking. If he wasn’t willing to dismiss what she’d found, then she shouldn’t be, either.
Then there was Zach Sargent. He certainly didn’t look like any contractor she’d ever known. With his lazy smile, long eyelashes and chiseled features, he looked more like the privileged boys she’d served coffee and Danish pastries to at a swank eatery in Los Angeles, just a block away from one of the best private schools in the state. Certainly, he was the last thing she’d ever expected to see deep in the swamp.
And I kissed him.
She chugged back another gulp of water then poured some of the icy liquid across her clammy forehead.
What in the world was I thinking?
His kiss had been completely unexpected, but it wasn’t the first time something like that had happened. Years of bartending and waitressing had left her with a history of lip-locks that she’d never have chosen for herself, and heaven knew it had gotten harder and harder to fend off advances from her drunken custodian’s strung-out boyfriends, which was what prompted her to finally leave and go it alone before she was legally able to do so.
But never, in all those years of sneak attacks, had she kissed someone back.
For the first time since she was a teen, she’d lost control. And even that split second of loss had her fuming. She couldn’t afford distraction, and certainly, she couldn’t afford to let her guard down. Something was going on in that house. And even though she had no doubt Carter would be keeping a close watch on her, he had a job to do and couldn’t stand guard over her all day.
Because he knew it as well, Carter had tried to talk her out of working at the house, volunteering to transport the paperwork to her cabin. She’d been tempted, but then that left the contractor roaming the house, unsupervised, and for some reason, she hadn’t liked that idea. Now she didn’t like the idea of her roaming the house with the contractor loose. Clearly, she’d lost all control where sexy Zach Sargent was concerned.
Alaina.
She reached for her cell phone, chiding herself for not thinking of her sister straightaway. Alaina had lived in the house for two weeks, and she was no stranger to danger or the general feeling of unease. Danae clearly remembered the morning Alaina came into the café before dawn—after the first night she’d spent in the house. Her face had been pale and drawn, and when Danae had quipped that she looked as if she’d seen a ghost, Alaina had spilled coffee on herself.
