by Dawn Brown
“Me, too.”
She looked pale except for the dark half-moons under her eyes. She probably hadn’t slept much, either. Guilt gave his insides a good twist. Her hair, still damp from the shower, fell to her shoulders in soft curls. Her scent, light and feminine, teased his senses.
“He told you they matched the blood on the rug to Agnes, then?”
She nodded.
“It’ll be at least another week before we can get back into Glendon House. Did you leave anything behind?” He struggled to ignore the tiny kernel of hope that she might have forgotten something.
“No. Everything of mine is here with me.”
“I see. Were you able to reschedule your flight?”
She dropped her gaze. “I can book for tomorrow morning.”
Good. A flight out in the morning meant she’d have to leave Culcraig today and stay overnight in Glasgow. She’d be safe.
“What about you?” Her eyes met his once more. “Will you be staying here until you can get back into Glendon House?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m going back to Edinburgh. I’ll stay with my brother. I dinnae wantae leave things between us the way they were last night,” he began.
“Me, either. I’m just not sure what to say.” A ghost of a smile tugged at her mouth. “It was nice knowing you.”
He didn’t know what to say, either, not that he could have spoken even if he did. Emotion clogged his throat and his voice seemed to evaporate. He let out a slow breath.
“Fuck it.” He grabbed her to him, capturing her mouth with his, swallowing her gasp. His hands slid around her back, pressing her soft form against his length. She wrapped her arms around his neck, opened her mouth and let him taste her.
He kissed her hard, devouring, losing himself in her sweet flavor. The temptation to edge her back into the room, strip down and have her was nearly overwhelming. To touch her soft skin, to feel her wrapped around him just one last time…
He turned his head, breaking the kiss, but neither of them moved away. They continued to hold each other, their breath coming in ragged gasps.
He brushed his lips against the soft skin of her cheek.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Without meeting her eyes, he pulled away from her embrace and started back the way he’d come. He didn’t dare turn to look at her.
Once back in his room, he stood under the cold spray in shower until his teeth chattered. Having brought his body back under control, he toweled off and dressed.
When he went to the window, her car was gone.
Chapter Twenty-seven
A fine drizzle clung to the heavy mist blanketing the village as Caid steered through the narrow streets of Culcraig toward Bristol’s office. He hadn’t actually needed to make the trip, at least not straight away, but when Bristol had rung and told him Warren was finished with the journals, he’d leapt at the chance to fetch them.
Any excuse to escape the tomb-like silence of Glendon House.
Going back had been a mistake, he’d realized as he walked from one empty room to another, a nearly crushing weight pressing down on his chest. Being there without Hillary just wasn’t the same. The house seemed bigger, cavernous and so damn empty.
But after five days with Alex in his brother’s two-bed flat, they were beginning to wear on each other’s nerves.
Two nights ago, while Caid was stretched out on the settee, flipping unseeing through the stations on the telly, his brother had finally snapped.
“For God’s sake, Caid, just ring her, already.”
“Ring who?” He knew. Hell, he’d thought of phoning her more times than he wanted to admit, even to himself.
“Hillary,” Alex ground out.
Caid didn’t look away from the screen. “I told you, she’s gone home.”
“She lives in another country, no’ on the bloody moon.”
“It’s finished. We’re finished.”
“If that’s true, then stop yer moping. It’s driving me mad.”
He hadn’t been moping, of course. When had he ever been melancholy about a woman? Never. Still, the news that he could access Glendon House again had come as a relief. Even if he could stay only a few days before his parents took ownership. He and Alex needed the space, and Caid some time alone.
As he pulled into the car park for the brick building that housed Culcraig’s small police office, Caid reconsidered the pragmatics of his plan. Hillary’s presence seemed to haunt the ancient house, especially in the kitchen. He could almost see her seated before the fireplace, poring over the journals. The image made his chest ache.
With a sigh, he popped the door open and stepped out of the car. The cold damp air wrapped around him like a shroud. In a little more than a week he would be enjoying the warm sun in Spain. The surge of anticipation the thought usually conjured didn’t come. It hardly ever did anymore. Things had changed. He’d changed.
“Douglas.” Bristol’s surprised voice snapped Caid from his reverie. The man had just stepped outside and was shoving his arms into his coat sleeves. “You didnae need to come down. I would have dropped the books by for you.”
“I had a few errands to run, anyway,” Caid lied. “And I’ll be gone in a day or so, once my parents take possession.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’d hoped you’d reconsider and stay on,” Bristol told him.
Caid shook his head. “This place isnae for me.”
Bristol opened his mouth as if to say more, but closed it again. He sighed, instead. “The books are in my car.”
Caid followed the cop to the car park. Bristol opened the passenger door, lifted the three journals from the seat and handed them to Caid.
“So the detective had no use for them?” he asked.
“No,” Bristol shook his head slowly, “Warren doesnae see the connection. I’m hoping Hillary finds something else now that Mrs. Semple’s giving her access to the records she needs.”
For a moment, Caid’s heart ceased to beat. “You spoke to Hillary in Canada?”
Wariness stole into Bristol’s expression. “No, she’s still in Culcraig, staying at the hotel.”
“Bloody hell.” Caid fought the urge to smash his fist into the hood of Bristol’s car. What had he done it all for? Groveled to his mother… Let his father gloat… What in the hell was the point of doing the right thing if she was just going to stay in Culcraig and put herself in danger anyway?
And she’d lied to him!
“I assumed you two had a falling out,” Bristol said. His mouth twitched as if he were struggling not to smile. “I didnae realize you thought she’d gone home.”
“She’s at the historical society now?” Caid asked, forcing his voice to remain as close to normal as possible.
“That’s where she said she’d be today.”
Caid tucked the books under his arm and started toward his car.
“Could you ask her to ring me?” Bristol called after him. There was no mistaking the amusement in the cop’s voice, now. Caid’s irritation rose another notch. “I’d like to hear about her progress.”
Caid yanked open the car door and slipped inside. So would he.
Hillary tapped her foot on the wood floor to an inaudible beat. A tiny surge of excitement raced through her as she made a third connection, exactly the same as the two previous.
How could she not have considered this before? Closing the heavy book, she leaned back on the hard chair. The wood creaked in the quiet. She’d been so fixated on the idea that the current deaths in Culcraig were imitations of the ones described in Roderick’s journal she hadn’t considered another possibility. And this was so obvious.
“How did I miss it?” she muttered aloud.
“Shhh!”
Hillary rolled her eyes before looking at the old woman who shushed her. All Hillary had to do was breathe deep, and Mrs. Semple was there with a ready hush. No matter that they were the only two people in the building.
Seated beh
ind her desk, with a book open in front of her--this done strictly for appearances, the woman had yet to turn a page inside of three hours--Mrs. Semple stared at Hillary with huge round eyes, magnified even larger by her oversize glasses. The size of her eyes, combined with her full lips and slightly sagging cheeks, gave her an unfortunate trout-like appearance.
A loud bang from a door slamming made Hillary jump. She turned, then froze as an angry Caid stormed down the center aisle between the rows of bookcases. His dark, narrowed eyes locked on her.
Hillary’s heart leapt at the sight of him. Her breath clogged her throat. The recollection of his last kiss had stayed with her these last days, causing her sleepless nights. Her mouth still tingled with the memory of his hungry lips on hers. His last words, I’m sorry, sounding as though they’d been torn from his throat, played over and over in her mind.
What had he meant? Sorry that he’d kissed her? Sorry that he’d given up and walked away? Sorry that she’d fallen in love with him and he couldn’t return the favor?
How many times had she wished to see him again? What she would have given to hear his voice, feel his arms around her, taste his lips just one last time…
Yet here he was in the flesh, furiously bearing down on her. Instead of the thrill she’d imagined, her stomach sank to her shoes.
“I’d say you missed yer flight.” Caid slapped the palms of both hands on the dark wood table top across from her and lunged forward, his glare pinning her where she sat. “By about a week.”
Hillary glanced quickly to Mrs. Semple, hoping for one her quick-draw hushes. No such luck. The old woman watched the unfolding scene with avid interest in her big round fish eyes.
“Maybe we should go outside,” Hillary suggested, turning back to Caid.
He edged around the table until he stood mere inches away. “You lied to me.”
A blush crept up her neck and into her face with a distinctive tingle. Why couldn’t a trapdoor open beneath her chair? “I didn’t lie. I said I could change my flight, not that I was going to.”
Had she honestly thought he wouldn’t find out that she’d stayed in Culcraig? Maybe she’d wanted him to. No. She wasn’t that immature. That desperate. At least, she hoped she wasn’t.
“So you let me believe you’d gone home. Why didnae you tell me you planned to stay?” His quiet voice held an edge that sent a shiver over her skin, the sensation not entirely unpleasant.
Hillary sighed. He made her actions sound so much more deceitful than she’d intended. He’d wanted to leave and she’d let him go. What did he have to be so angry about? “You’d made your choice and I didn’t want to make you feel obligated to stay because I’d made mine. Whatever we had was over. Things would have been awkward and uncomfortable for us both.”
He said nothing, only continued to stare down her with hot, angry eyes.
“And I wanted to avoid this very conversation. Looks like we get to have it, anyway. And with an audience, no less. Lucky me.”
Mrs. Semple gave a defiant shrug, but didn’t turn away. Fabulous. Hillary reached behind her and rubbed her neck at the base of her skull where a steady ache had developed.
“Far be it for me to point out the obvious,” he growled, “but it’s no’ as if we’d planned to get married and live our lives together. We were both here for a limited time only and knew that from the start.”
She swallowed the sudden knot in her throat. Why did his words hurt so much? They were true. Maybe because they were true.
Looking away, Hillary stacked her notes in front of her, pretending evening the edges of the papers had all her attention. “You’re absolutely right. So what difference does it make where I go and what I tell you?” Her words were cool, clipped.
“I found out from Bristol, looking like a blasted fool when I thought you’d left.”
“I’m sorry you were embarrassed.” She slid her notes into her bag and turned to the old woman. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Semple. I trust you were thoroughly entertained.”
As she hoisted the strap over her shoulder, she snatched her jacket from the back of the chair. Before she could storm off, Caid grabbed her wrist.
“Why are you staying? You have what you needed from the journals. Even with the last entry missing.”
“I’m helping Bristol.” She yanked her hand from his grasp. “I was right, Caid. I’ve connected the people who died to the journal. Everyone who’s been killed was a descendant of the men who murdered Anne Black.”
Hillary waited for the implication of what she’d said to sink in, but Caid’s expression remained impassive.
She tried again. “Everyone who died under strange circumstances in the past year was related to the seven men who hanged Anne.”
Still, he stared at her.
“You…could…be…next,” she said slowly.
He threw his hands in the air. “What the hell did I give them the house for if ye’re still running about Culcraig playing detective with Bristol? I tried to do the right bloody thing for once. And for what?”
The blood drained from her face with a rush as his words registered.
“That’s a hell of a thing to lay at my feet.”
“I wanted you safe.”
“So you sold your parents the house in an attempt to get me away from Culcraig? How could you be so highhanded? Who are you to determine what’s too dangerous for me?”
“I was doing the right thing.”
“You can say that as often as you like, but it’s not going to make it true.”
“I didnae want anything to happen to you.”
“Then you come to me and tell me how you feel. You don’t sneak around and deceive me.”
“I did. I told you what I thought, and you said that you had to keep pushing with those blasted journals. What I felt didnae matter.”
“So you thought manipulating the situation from behind the scenes was the answer.”
Her words seemed to give him pause. His shoulders drooped and he dropped his gaze to the floor. “I want you safe.” The heat was gone from his voice.
She softened her tone. “It’s not your decision to make.”
“Fine.” He shrugged, and met her gaze once more. “Do as you like. In a few days I’ll be gone. I hope you have a very happy and successful life. And I hope you live long enough to enjoy it.”
He turned and stormed out the door, leaving Hillary alone and defeated.
Mrs. Semple clucked behind her. “Young love.”
“I really should go to Warren with this,” Bristol said, peering at Hillary’s notes through wireless glasses that seemed ridiculously small on his round face.
Hillary shrugged. “With what? He could argue that the connection is merely coincidence. All I’ve managed to do is tie the deceased to the journal. What does a murder that happened over one hundred years ago have to do with the people murdered in the past year?”
Bristol set the papers on the desktop between them. “With the exception of the Frasers, Agnes and possibly old Radcliffe, most of those deaths are officially accidents.”
“Joan’s fire was arson. Could it be that the other accidents were actually murders? If we hadn’t found that poker and the carpet, you’d still think Agnes had died accidentally.”
“Which leads to the inevitable question, why did the murderer give you the poker? Why go through all the trouble of making Agnes’s death look like a fall down the stairs and then give you the murder weapon?”
“The criminal mind is a little beyond my field of expertise. Caid and I assumed the poker had been a warning. Maybe the murderer wasn’t the person who left it for us. Willie did say he had a partner.”
They were both quiet for a long moment. Hillary turned her attention to the darkening sky outside the small square window behind Bristol’s shoulder. Rain pelted against the glass, the drops zigzagging over the pane like miniature lightening bolts. Under the bright, artificial light from the fluorescents in Bristol’s office, Hillary hadn’
t noticed how late it had become.
Not that she was in any hurry to leave. Sitting alone in her hotel room, replaying the argument with Caid, held all the appeal of a stick in the eye. She was still angry at him, still hurt, but she hated the idea of him leaving with bad feelings between them.
“Did Caid find you?” Bristol asked, as if reading her mind.
Heat flooded her cheeks and she nodded.
“That’s good, then. Everything all right?”
“Fine,” she lied, hoping Bristol took the hint and let the subject drop.
“Are you and Caid on the outs? He thought you’d gone back to Canada.”
“We’d have had to be a couple for us to be on the outs. It’s not like we were engaged.” Funny, being the one to say the words didn’t make them any less painful. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Of course.”
“Just before Agnes died, she complained that someone had been trying to frighten her by leaving butchered animals in her garden. Had any of the others made similar complaints?”
Bristol frowned. “No’ about dead animals.”
“But there was something?”
“Nothing to pin your hopes on. Right before Jimmy’s car accident, a pipe burst in his house and flooded his first floor. Caused hundreds of pounds in damage. When I spoke to him about it later, he made a comment about the lot of them being cursed. When I asked him to explain, he said it was just some nonsense.” With a deep sigh, Bristol leaned back in his chair. “I wish now that I’d pressed him further. And I wish I had listened to Agnes. She said she knew who it was, leaving the animal carcasses, that she had proof. I thought she was mad. Harmless, but mad just the same.”
Hillary sat up. “She said she knew who it was? When I was helping Caid clean out her room, I found a box of ledgers. Inside she’d written the name of anyone who’d slighted her and what they did.”
“The book’s at Glendon house?” Bristol reached for his phone.
While Bristol dialed Caid’s number and waited for him to answer, butterflies the size of a VW Bug flip-flopped in Hillary’s stomach. She didn’t want him to think she was one of those women who couldn’t let go when a relationship ended. The type that looked for any excuse to call or drop by. Why should he? It was Bristol calling, not her. He wouldn’t even know she was here.
