Moriah's Landing Bundle

by Amanda Stevens

  “You must have had some thoughts in that direction or you never would have said anything.”

  “I haven’t. I don’t know why I said anything about him.” She gave him a pleading look. “Can we just stick to the investigation right now? If you have something on Lucian LeCroix, let me hear it.”

  Cullen glared at the road. “His credentials checked out.”

  “You ran a background check on him?”

  He shrugged.

  They both fell silent, both deep in thought, and then, as they were nearing the cemetery, Cullen said, “I keep thinking about Claire.”

  Elizabeth turned. “I know. It’s still a shock to see her like that. She was always so beautiful and the most gentle person I ever knew. That something so horrible could have happened to her, of all people.”

  “Vanished without a trace,” Cullen muttered.

  “What?”

  He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “How the hell did someone get her out of that mausoleum without any of you seeing anything?”

  Elizabeth felt the old familiar rush of guilt. “You don’t know how many times I’ve asked myself that same question.”

  He was slowing the car, and Elizabeth glanced around. St. John’s Cemetery was to their left, and Cullen pulled off the road near the gates.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in alarm.

  “I’m going to have a look around.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there has to be some way that she was taken from that crypt.”

  “But the police searched it. They didn’t find anything.” Elizabeth knew her voice sounded slightly desperate, but she couldn’t help it. The last time she’d been in that cemetery, she’d been running for her life.

  “Yeah, but I know the guys on the force,” Cullen said dryly. “Most of them won’t even walk under a ladder. It’s my guess they gave the mausoleum a cursory search, at best.”

  Elizabeth stared at the cemetery gates, a terrible dread welling inside her. “You don’t expect me to go with you, I hope.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” Cullen’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. “I need you to show me exactly where you and the others were when Claire disappeared.”

  “This can’t wait until morning?”

  His expression turned grim. “Another girl could be dead by morning.”

  He was right. If there was a clue inside that mausoleum that could stop the killings, then Elizabeth wasn’t going to let a little fear stand in her way. Cullen reached over and removed the gun from the glove box.

  “I’m leaving the safety on this time, but if we run into trouble…” He showed her how to flick it off. “Like I said before, just point and shoot.”

  Easier said than done, Elizabeth thought. Her hands would be shaking so badly she would be lucky not to shoot Cullen. Or herself.

  He checked his own weapon, then returned it to his shoulder holster. He glanced at Elizabeth. “Ready?”

  “No.”

  He grinned. “It’ll be okay. We’ll stick together. I won’t let you out of my sight.”

  “Promise?”

  “You got it.”

  THE CEMETERY looked different tonight. No storm clouds threatening on the horizon. No fog creeping through the landscape. Just a pale, fragile moon casting a mysterious glow over the tombstones and mausoleums. A mild breeze stirred shadows, making the city of the dead seem almost…alive.

  Topping a low hill, Elizabeth paused, her stomach clenching in fear. “That’s it.” She pointed to a crypt directly ahead of them. “I can tell by the broken cross. Leary’s grave is somewhere to the right of it.”

  “Show me.”

  Elizabeth took the lead, uncertain that she would be able to find Leary’s grave in the dark, but she moved unerringly to it, staring down at the headstone worn smooth by time and weather. “This is it. This is where we were. We formed a circle around the grave. Then we drew lots and Claire lost. She got up and walked to the mausoleum alone.”

  “Show me.”

  Her heart pounding, Elizabeth crossed the ten yards or so to the crypt, taking some comfort in the knowledge that Cullen was right behind her and they were both armed, although she still had her doubts about her ability to shoot anything. Besides, how did one kill a ghost?

  Cullen reached around and tried the door of the crypt. It opened easily, and Elizabeth remembered how Kat had had to struggle with it that night. Had someone been here recently?

  “You can wait out here if you want to,” Cullen told her. “I’ll leave the door open.”

  Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, her gaze scanning the headstones as she remembered how the fog had formed into a human shape over Leary’s grave. The manifestation had probably been a combination of an active imagination and intense fear, but Elizabeth didn’t relish a repeat performance.

  “That’s okay,” she said, suppressing a shudder. “I’ll go in with you.”

  The crypt was a fairly large one, and old, with a thick carpet of grime covering the marble floor and cobwebs draped from the ornate ceiling. The place smelled of death and decay, but then Elizabeth wondered if that was her imagination, too.

  Cullen played his flashlight over the walls. “I don’t see another door. How the hell did he get her out of here?”

  He shone the beam along the wall vaults. They were stacked on top of one another, and each contained a stone plaque. Elizabeth read some of the epitaphs. Beloved Wife and Mother. Our Dearest Son.

  An angel holding a lantern had been carved into the stone on one of the bottom vaults and the inscription read: An Angel Walks Among Us. Follow Her Light to His Sanctuary.

  “Wait,” Elizabeth said, when Cullen moved the light to the next vault. “Go back.”

  She knelt and ran her hands over the angel.

  “What is it?” Cullen asked.

  Excitement spiraled through Elizabeth. “Do you remember all those old newspaper clippings I have hanging on the walls in my house? I’ve always been an avid history buff, especially about anything pertaining to Moriah’s Landing. I have hundreds of books in my collection, and I like to go to flea markets whenever I can—”

  “Elizabeth,” Cullen said impatiently. “Get to the point.”

  “Moriah’s Landing is famous—or infamous, depending on one’s perspective—because of the witch executions in the 1600s, just like Salem. But both towns were also active in the Underground Railroad before the Civil War. The symbol of a safe house was a lantern hanging from a hitching post. But there are no hitching posts in cemeteries.”

  Cullen knelt. “You think this place was used as a station in the Underground Railroad?”

  “Read the script,” Elizabeth told him. “‘Follow Her Light to His Sanctuary.’ A sanctuary is a haven. A safe place. That could also explain how the rumors got started about the mausoleum being haunted. The conductor, whoever he was, wanted to scare people away.”

  Cullen looked doubtful. “It’s hard to imagine runaways hiding in here. Someone could have easily stumbled upon them, in spite of the rumors.”

  “I don’t think they hid in here,” Elizabeth said, waving an arm to encompass the crypt. “I think they hid in here.” She tapped the vault. “My guess is there’s a series of catacombs or tunnels beneath the mausoleum. They might even lead all the way to the sea, where a ship would take the runaway slaves to freedom.”

  “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

  The openings to the vaults were hinged, so that coffins could be slipped into place, and then the doors were closed, sometimes sealed.

  A small metal handle had been set into the stone at the bottom, and Cullen gave it a tug. When it didn’t budge, he laid aside the flashlight and used both hands. The door gave a little, then finally creaked all the way open.

  Cullen picked up the flashlight and angled the beam inside. The vault was empty.

  He gave her a tight smile. “Nice work, Sherlock. Now we know how Claire’s abductor was able to drag
her off right under your noses.”

  He leaned forward, thrusting the upper part of his body into the vault. “I can see steps.” His voice echoed in the abyss. “Looks like they lead down to some sort of cellar. If you’re right, there should be an opening to a tunnel somewhere down there.”

  He started to crawl into the vault, but Elizabeth grabbed his leg. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m going to have a look around the cellar. See if I can spot the opening to the tunnel.”

  “Cullen! Are you crazy? That cellar has been there for over a hundred and fifty years. It could cave in at any moment.”

  But he was almost all the way into the vault by now. Elizabeth had to lean inside to see him. He was at the stairs. Going down.

  “Cullen!”

  “I’ll be right back. Wait for me up there.” He took something out of his pocket and tossed it to her. Miraculously, Elizabeth caught it. It was his cell phone. “If anything happens, call the station. Get some help over here.”

  Elizabeth backed out of the vault and sat on her heels. Without the flashlight, the crypt was very dark. She could feel something crawling on her neck, and then she realized it was goose bumps. She was chilled all over, and it came to her in a flash the reason for her terror.

  She was no longer alone in the crypt.

  Her heart began to beat in long, painful strokes. Someone, something was right behind her, but she didn’t dare turn around. She didn’t want to see Leary’s ghost….

  A flesh-and-blood arm grabbed her by the throat and pulled her to her feet. Elizabeth struggled. She tried to cry out. But it was too late. She heard the phone clatter to the floor just as a cloth was shoved against her mouth and nose.

  A split second before the ether overcame her, she saw a foot kick the vault door shut, trapping Cullen inside.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cullen heard the vault door slam and rushed back up the stairs. “Elizabeth! Open the door!” But he realized almost at once that she would never have closed that door on purpose. Someone must have come into the vault.

  The killer…

  “Elizabeth!” Cullen shoved against the door until he worked up a sweat, but after several moments, he realized he was having a hard time breathing. The effort was using up all the oxygen in the cellar.

  He turned and surveyed his options. Option, he amended. There was only one thing he could do. Find the opening to the tunnel and follow it out.

  And then it hit him. The full extent of his predicament.

  He was trapped underground….

  In a small, close space….

  No air…

  Panic rushed up from his stomach, into his lungs, pressing against his chest. He couldn’t breathe….

  Get a grip, a voice commanded him. Elizabeth was in dire trouble. He didn’t have time to go all mental. He hadn’t had a problem entering the vault, so why was he panicking now?

  Because he was trapped, that’s why.

  Cullen didn’t know when or why or how he’d developed claustrophobia, but he thought it might have been when his mother left. After she’d taken off, he’d sometimes awakened in his small cell-like room, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat.

  He felt that same helplessness now, but he fought it. He had to get out of there. Elizabeth was in big, big trouble.

  The thought of her calmed him somewhat, and he played the beam of his flashlight along the walls of the cellar. To his right, a small opening, barely large enough to accommodate a man lying flat on his stomach, led, perhaps, to freedom.

  But could he do that? Could he force himself into such a narrow space? Even for Elizabeth?

  An image came to him suddenly. He could see Elizabeth lying on a table, her features pale and fragile as the blood was slowly drained from her body….

  A new panic seized him then, and he strode across the tunnel, dropping to his knees in front of the opening. He could do this. To save Elizabeth, he would do anything.

  He slithered into the tunnel, clutching the flashlight, putting one hand in front of the other as he inched forward. He forced himself to think about how Claire had been dragged along that same tunnel. How terrified she must have been. All these years, she’d lived in her own private hell, and now it was up to Cullen to find her kidnapper, to finally bring him to justice.

  And so he made himself keep going.

  After long, agonizing moments, the tunnel widened and he was able to stand upright. That was better. Not much…but better….

  He walked along, feeling spiders crawl in his hair and along his back, but he knew that was just the panic. After a while, the air in the tunnel began to smell fresher, and he thought he could hear the distant sound of the ocean. His first instinct was to run toward the sound, but caution held him back.

  The tunnel, as it turned out, had melded into a cave, the mouth of which opened in the side of a cliff. Thirty feet below him, the surf pounded against the rocky shoreline, but tonight there was no boat waiting to take him to freedom, no beacon of welcome or warning except for the distant shimmer from the lighthouse.

  Cullen glanced up. It was another twenty feet or so to the top, and from there a long hike down Old Mountain Road to the cemetery where he’d left his car. But that seemed his best shot. He started to climb.

  He was almost at the top, ready to reach a hand over the edge of the cliff and pull himself up when he happened to glance up. A dark form dressed in dark clothing stood at the top of the cliff, staring down at him.

  David Bryson…

  WHEN ELIZABETH came to, she was lying on her back on a stainless-steel table. She could feel the smooth, cool surface beneath her bare skin, and that’s when she realized she was naked.

  Naked!

  Where was she? She blinked, trying to focus, but all she could see were vague shapes. She struggled to sit up, but a wave of nausea rolled over her, and groaning, she collapsed against the table. Which was just as well, seeing as how she was strapped down.

  Strapped down!

  She glanced around frantically as everything came back in a horrifying rush. The mausoleum. Cullen! He was trapped underground! His claustrophobia! She had to get to him!

  Elizabeth redoubled her efforts to sit up, but it was no use. She fell back, gazing frantically around. Where was she?

  There was a picture on the wall beside the table, and she concentrated until it came into focus. It was an anatomical chart representing the circulatory and muscle systems of the human body.

  Was she in some sort of classroom? A science lab?

  She moved her gaze to the closed door just to her right. There were danger signs mounted on the white surface, a warning that this was a formaldehyde area.

  Elizabeth’s heart started to beat painfully. At the end of the table on which she lay were a series of hoses and pumps. A shelf above her head contained several bottles of fluid in different colors. Some of them were pink. Embalming fluid…

  She gasped in horror. She was at the funeral home. In the embalming room…

  A scream bubbled in her throat, but Elizabeth forced it back. She couldn’t panic. She had to find a way to free herself. And then she had to go and rescue Cullen.

  She closed her eyes, trying to think what to do. When she opened them again, a man in a white lab coat stood over her.

  “You’re awake, I see.”

  Elizabeth blinked. He wasn’t at all who she’d expected to see. “Lucian?” He looked like Lucian and yet he didn’t. His eyes were different. No longer dark, but a piercing blue. She’d seen those eyes before….

  His smiled broadened. “Allow me to introduce myself, Elizabeth. I’m Dr. René Rathfastar.”

  Rathfastar? Manning’s protégé?

  “I’m also known as Lucas Cross, the fisherman who rents the apartment above Krauter’s Funeral Home. I’m sure you’ve figured out by now where you are.”

  She moistened her lips, trying to will away her fear. “I thought René Rathfastar
was dead.”

  “As you can see, I’m not.”

  “You killed those girls?” When he merely kept smiling, she said almost accusingly, “But that day in the lab. The sight of blood made you sick.”

  He sighed. “An affliction I’ve never gotten over, I’m afraid. It stems from my childhood, when my father, who was an avid big-game hunter, made me dress his kills. It’s ironic, I suppose, that that which repulses me also…stimulates me.”

  Elizabeth swallowed. “Why did you kill them?”

  “You would have figured that out eventually. That’s one of the things I admire most about you. Your fine mind. We have that in common, you know. I was a prodigy, also, and I know how lonely that can be. I was drawn to you…for many reasons.”

  The thought of that made Elizabeth even more ill. She tried to calm her racing heart. She had to keep her wits about her so she could figure out his motive. So she could get one step ahead of him.

  “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.” She let an edge of panic creep into her voice. He would like that.

  “Oh, I think you do understand. You were on the right track, you just didn’t realize it. But one day soon you would have had an epiphany, and then everything would have fallen into place for you. As much as I hated to bring our little game to an end, I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let you ruin my plans. I’ve waited so long.”

  “Since Brussels?” She took a stab in the dark at his motivation.

  His gaze hardened. “Since Leland Manning forced me out of the society. And in the process, he ruined my reputation, my career. He took everything from me. I had to flee the country, to try and start over in Europe, but even there, he still had influence. He still pursued me. Then I had an epiphany.”

  “What was it?” Elizabeth struggled unobtrusively with the bindings that kept her trapped on the table. Bindings that Rathfastar had attached himself because an embalming table usually had no need of them. Elizabeth’s thoughts were slightly hysterical, but she couldn’t seem to rein them in.

  “The car accident was the catalyst,” he said. “I’ll spare you the details of the hell I went through, the months in the hospital, the dozens of agonizing surgeries I had to endure. Suffice it to say, I survived. And I came through the ordeal a new man.” He smiled again. “Literally. I look nothing like my former self, but…” He stroked his chin. “I can’t say that I’m displeased with the results.”