by Sylvie Kurtz
Randall rose to his feet. “Words are cheap, Mr. Blackwell.”
“You didn’t think so when you sent your errand boy to play with the gun that killed my wife.”
Randall’s mustache twitched. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for too long. Ray—”
“Look what I found squeezing through the back gate,” Ray said as he rounded the corner.
At the sight of Melissa held captive against Ray’s chest, hunting knife poised against her neck, Tyler froze.
Randall turned to face the new arrivals. A smile quirked his lips. The odds had shifted in his favor and he knew it. “Ah, Melissa. Normally I’d be glad to see you out and about, but you didn’t pick a good time to do so.”
But Melissa wasn’t looking at Randall. Her murderous gaze cut right into Drake. “You! What are you doing here? Didn’t you cause enough damage the first time?”
“Don’t look at me,” Drake said, sinking deeper into the chair and jerking his chin toward Randall. “It was his idea.”
Her eyebrows pleated. “James?”
“He wanted me to have a look around,” Drake continued in his defense. “Without an article you’d have been suspicious, so I had to write it.”
Article? Tyler wondered. What article? And what did Drake have to do with it?
“The choice of words were his,” Randall said. “I wanted to promote your art.”
“Promote my art by having him turn me into a wicked witch? What are you having Brent Westfield write this time? How I get my inspiration from the devil?” She gasped. “You’re the one behind the rumors turning Fallen Moon into another Salem.”
Brent Westfield? “This is Drake West, Melissa,” Tyler said. “Tia’s kidnapper.”
Her face turned ashen as she looked from Drake to Tyler and back. “Last summer he pretended he was a reporter named Brent Westfield and wrote a cruel article about me.”
Tyler had read the blistering article during his research. There truly was nothing sacred for this man. Drake didn’t deserve the energy it would take to punch his lights out. The pretty boy wouldn’t much enjoy jail, and Tyler would make sure he’d be there a long time.
“I needed money,” Drake said. “He told me if I got you to give me a tour of the castle, he’d pay my debt.”
“Tia?” Melissa asked. “Was she just another toy for you to use?”
Drake looked sheepish. “What can I say? I’ve had a streak of bad luck lately.”
Her eyes narrowed as her gaze skewered Randall. “Was it your idea for him to use my sister?”
“Marriage to her would have been profitable and gotten him off my hands.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, shaking her head.
“It isn’t personal, Melissa,” James said. “You have something I need.”
“Not personal!” She fought Ray’s hold, but couldn’t free herself. “Was it all a lie?”
Her eyes looked so hurt that a knife of pure agony twisted in Tyler’s gut. Freddy’s quest to help Melissa had crushed everything and everyone she believed in. What did she have left? Had the truth gained her anything?
Ray held the knife pressed against Melissa’s neck. A glance at Drake told Tyler he’d get no help from that quarter. Paralyzed with fear, Drake would not budge an inch unless it was to save his own skin, and inaction was the prudent course at the moment. There was nothing Tyler could do to protect Melissa without putting her in graver danger. Through the heavy feeling of impotence, his brain worked feverishly to find a solution.
“Was what all a lie?” Randall asked.
“The friendship, the mentorship…”
“No, my dear,” Randall said gently. “I’ve simply tried to give you your freedom. You and your art belong out here where there’s life, not locked away in that dead monument of the past.”
“If you’d asked,” Melissa said, eyes bright with unshed tears, “I’d have given you what you wanted.”
He shook his head and allowed himself a small smile. “You would have thought me a foolish old man.”
“You were my friend. Oil is business, and I understand business.”
Her head drooped sideways, causing the knife to pinch the skin and draw blood. Tyler had to fist his hands against premature action as adrenaline gushed through him.
He tried to catch her attention without telegraphing his intentions to the muscle-bound goon who held her. Help is on the way. Hang on.
“Oil is the least of it,” Randall said as he pulled the tape from the cassette.
“Then what?”
Randall gave a one-note laugh and a shake of his head. When his gaze met Melissa’s, it burned with fervor. The tape in his hand snapped in his grasp. The brown ribbon undulated like a maddened eel in the gusting wind. “Gold.”
“There is no gold.” Then her eyes widened as understanding dawned. “But Thorne’s alchemy is just a legend. It isn’t real.”
Alchemy. He’d been right. The article on the mason had sparked Randall’s interest in Thorne’s recipe.
“That’s what I thought, too,” Randall said. “Deanna never did find anything in the castle that remotely dealt with alchemy. Neither did Drake. But I knew—”
“Deanna?” The blow seemed to hit Melissa right in the solar plexus, bending her forward.
Tyler felt the blow of betrayal as if it were his own. Yet another piece of her life was slashed to bits. A drop of blood splattered on Ray’s boot. Tyler wanted to tear the man limb from limb. “Enough!”
Ray jerked her up. Tyler tensed to hurl himself at Ray and free Melissa from his cruel grasp. Ray slid the blade of his knife into the tender skin, widening the cut on her neck.
Straightening, Melissa caught Tyler’s gaze. A new urgency covered the skin of betrayal, and her eyes darted all about as if looking for a safe place to run.
Calm down, calm down, Tyler silently urged. Look at me. He had to get her out of here and back to the safety of her castle. He should have let Freddy handle this. But he’d just had to satisfy his own guilty conscience. He’d just had to have someone else accept the blame for Lindsey’s death. He hadn’t done this for Lindsey; he’d done it for himself. And once again his selfish purpose had put the woman he loved in jeopardy.
If he could signal her to become dead weight, she’d pull Ray off balance and give Tyler an even chance to free her. When her gaze rested on him, he focused on her, let her see his love for her in his eyes. Once the fear vanished, he made a tiny downward motion. She acknowledged it with a blink.
“Then the mason found those markings.” Randall lifted his shoulders. “I always knew they existed. Your father’s success didn’t come through normal channels. He’d found Thorne’s secret and used it magnificently all those years. And then he hid it right there in plain sight.”
“Daddy wheeled and dealed.” Her voice was icicle sharp. “His own cunning brought him his success.”
But even as Tyler felt proud of her strength, he silently willed her to keep quiet. The situation was explosive and he didn’t want it to escalate.
“No,” Randall said, “he wasn’t smart enough to use his own ideas to grow a business.”
“That’s why he used his skill to promote other people’s ideas.”
Randall gave her an avuncular smile. “He had to have something more.”
“It’s called guts, James. Daddy worked hard for every penny he made. He took risks, and they paid off.”
Tyler edged closer, trying to position himself nearer Melissa. But Ray anchored her more tightly to his body and pointed the tip of the blade right into the hollow of her throat. A line of blood ran down the too-white skin of Melissa’s neck. Anger pulsed through him, twitching muscles desperate to act. Gritting his teeth, he reined in his flaring temper. To help Melissa, he had to remain detached. If he gave in to emotion, he risked losing her.
“You were always naive,” Randall said. “Living alone like that, it’s really no surprise. If your father had had any guts, you wouldn’t be a re
cluse today.” He signaled to Ray. “Take them to the lake cabin and hold them there for now.”
Tyler met Melissa’s glance over Randall’s head. Now, while attentions were divided, was the time to act. He gave a tiny nod and saw the small flicker of fear in Melissa’s eyes quickly replaced with determination.
In one swift movement she sank like a corpse, pulling Ray down. To keep his hold on her, Ray had to drop the knife and lean forward. Tyler sprinted toward them and grabbed the knife skittering along the concrete. Melissa’s dead weight crashed through Ray’s weakened hold. She rolled out of her captor’s way as he fell onto his face. Using both feet, she shoved Ray’s unbalanced body into the pool. He landed with a splash that spilled water over the edge and soaked Melissa.
Putting himself between Melissa and the resurfacing goon, Tyler held the knife defensively.
Fat raindrops started to fall, plopping on the concrete and pinging on the wrought-iron table. From the front of the house, car doors slammed. A voice barked out orders.
Randall tried to sneak into the house. Drake, hands still tied, tackled him, pinning him down with his body. “Oh, no, old man. If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me.”
As the police spilled onto the patio, Melissa looked from the man in the pool to Randall, and finally at Tyler. “It’s over.”
“Yeah,” Tyler said. Still holding the knife on Ray, Tyler reached down and took Melissa’s hand. She rose to her feet, and he pressed her against him. The adrenaline coursing through his blood finally started to ebb. The police would take time to sort through this mess. He’d almost lost her, but Melissa was safe. That was all that counted. “It’s over. They can’t hurt you anymore.”
MELISSA RETRIEVED Breeze from where she’d tied her to the fence. The mare seemed pleased to see her, and Melissa fussed over her, checking to make sure she’d suffered no harm during her prolonged wait.
Tyler found her discarded shotgun nearby. How Ray had managed to catch her unawares, Melissa still wasn’t sure. All she knew was that one minute she’d been trying to sneak through the back gate, and the next Ray had his beefy arm wrapped around her chest and a knife at her throat.
“I wish you’d let me send someone for the horse,” Tyler said, stroking the mare’s neck.
“She needs to be home where she belongs.” They’d all had more than enough excitement for one day. Breeze deserved to relax at pasture, and Melissa wanted a long hot bath—among other things.
Tyler played with a strand of her hair. The loving look in his eyes took her breath away. “So do you.”
“I know how to compromise,” she said, smiling.
His eyebrows rose in exaggerated surprise. “You do?”
When it suited her purposes, and Tyler suited them just fine. “I’ll ride along the road, and you can follow in your Jeep.”
“I’ll take it. I’m not ready to let you out of my sight anytime soon.”
“Yeah?” The warmth trickling down to her stomach felt good.
He kissed her and she melted. “Yeah.”
He took Breeze’s reins and led the mare across the manicured lawn to the front of the estate. Melissa fell into step beside him, took the shotgun from him and slipped her hand into his.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“But not now.” She needed a little quiet time before she faced more disruption. Her lie, Dee’s betrayal, Sable’s treachery. She’d have to deal with all of them. But right now she was simply grateful to be alive, to have Tyler by her side and to have the mystery of the chess player solved. For the first time since her mother had died, she could actually imagine an almost normal life. One with Tyler. One so close to her fantasy it frightened her a bit. They had a lifetime to work things out. Right now she just wanted to savor the moment. “I want to get home.”
THE NEXT FEW DAYS were the happiest of Melissa’s life. Even outside events like the explosion of the Randall Industries scandal all over the media or the reverend’s continued quest to save her soul couldn’t dim her optimism.
Tyler was by her side, and life was finally all she’d ever hoped for. Her days reverted to the natural rhythm of day and night. Daylight was spent venturing farther and farther from the confining walls of the castle, nighttime in sensual explorations with Tyler. Even her painting took on a new brilliance that seemed transcendent. Gone were the monsters camouflaged in the landscape.
She saw the worried look in Deanna’s eyes, the disapproval, but ignored both. Dee had tried to justify her actions as bribery on her father’s part. Melissa understood, but she wasn’t ready yet to forgive the breach of trust. That would take time. In an ironic twist, Tia’s spurning of her mother was worse than any punishment Melissa could have meted out. Now the woman Sable had revolved her life around, had been willing to kill for, wasn’t talking to her, and the breach was sucking the life from Sable.
Melissa ignored, too, the continuing rumors of witchcraft. They would die soon enough now that Randall’s machinations were exposed.
June thirteenth, her birthday, dawned bright and she didn’t want to miss a minute of it. She let Tyler sleep in. After checking on Grace’s condition—it was still unchanged—and seeing to the horses, Melissa rushed to Tyler’s room. There was no point in his having to keep going there to change since he was practically living in her quarters. She’d move his belongings to let him know that she wanted him in her life—permanently. In a few days her period was due and she’d know if she was pregnant. There was no sense bringing up the probability of a baby unless there was a reason.
She hummed as she stuffed Tyler’s clothes into his duffel bag, stopping to sniff the male scent of him on the sweatshirt he’d tossed on the bed. She jammed the half-empty toiletry bag into the front compartment. She shuffled the papers on his bedside table—an article he was writing, it appeared—into a neat pile. As she was about to slip them into the side pocket of the duffel bag, the title caught her attention. “Seduction of the Beast.”
Her heart stopped, then galloped hard against her ribs. Hands shaking, she sat on the edge of the bed and began to read. A soft keening ripped from her as the words he’d written filleted her, slicing her heart to tiny pieces, hemorrhaging raw emotions.
In black and white, her scars were laid bare. Every twist and turn of the ugly landscape of her face, arms and legs was charted like a roadmap. He’d missed no flaw, no discoloration, no intimate detail.
With a roar, she let her pain, her anger, fly and tore the pages of the article to shreds.
All she’d ever wanted was to belong. To fit in. To be loved. She’d thought her dream had finally come true with Tyler. She’d thought her scars were invisible to him. Hadn’t he told her he loved her? Hadn’t he showed her he loved every inch of her? Hadn’t their shared love implied a future?
But all he saw was the witch.
The pretty words, the gentle caresses, the blind lovemaking had all been lies. Happy endings didn’t happen. His story proved that. He’d wanted her to drop her mask so he could expose her flaws for all the world to see.
Just as Brent Westfield had. Just as James Randall had.
And she’d let him. She’d gladly shed her defenses and bared her soul to him. She’d fallen in love with him. Not careful inch by careful inch, but all the way—hard and fast.
Swallowing the insult, she strode to her tower, duffel bag in hand. She’d learned to take care of herself a long time ago. This was merely another speed bump. She’d get over it. She always did.
By the time Tyler emerged from the shower, she had wrapped her rage in a frozen shell and could feel nothing.
Smiling as he toweled his dark hair, he came toward her. She knew every contour of that lean body, craved it with every atom of her being. She knew the texture of every muscle, the feel of his skin, the tender places where one touch could undo him. She knew the meaning of that smokey look in his eyes and felt its fiery impact low in her belly. He bent to kiss her. And the betrayal cut through her knife-sharp. A small
wounded sound escaped her as she slapped him.
Frowning, he jerked back. “What the—”
“Get out.” Her palm stung from the blow. The imprint of her hand throbbed a violent red against the pale gold of his cheek. She would not let the confusion in his eyes soften her resolve. He’d used her. Knowing the power of his words could destroy her, he’d nevertheless wielded them against her. She couldn’t let him know how deeply he’d wounded her.
The towel taut between his hands, he stood stock-still. “What’s wrong?”
“Get out.”
He dropped one end of the towel and reached a hand toward her. She whirled out of his grasp. “Melissa, talk to me.”
She grabbed a handful of paper shreds from her pocket and threw them at him. “How could you?”
His face grew sharp with tension. “You read it?”
He seemed to be waiting for some sort of reaction, approval even, almost as if he feared the impact of her words. Well, he should, after what he’d written, displaying her like some sideshow freak. Her voice spat out the venom poisoning her mind. “I read it.”
“I see.” His eyes hardened to flint as he reached for his clothes and dressed. “You don’t feel the same way?”
“How could I?”
A muscle flinched in his jaw. “I love you, Melissa.”
Love? Tearing her apart in public—that was love? “You have a strange way of showing it.”
“What more do you want from me? I gave you all I had.”
“I trusted you.” The words came out raw.
He shook his head. “Not enough.”
She launched his duffel bag at him, then pointed at the door. Her leashed fury, desperate to escape, had her hand trembling so much that she fisted it and drew it tight to her side. “Get out.”
When he didn’t move, she spun on her heel and left.
She didn’t care that the sun blazed hot. She didn’t care that her skin wasn’t protected. She grabbed the rainbow-colored rope from the tack room and headed toward the pasture.
