“Mrs. Cavendish’s Ford. It’s parked in front of the house.” He shoved her in that direction, his hand still gripping her arm.
Claire started crying. “Don’t hurt Becca, Larry. Don’t you turn into a monster, too. I can’t take this. I just can’t.”
“It’s okay, sweetie.” Becca felt the pressure of the situation squeezing her head like a vice, but she had to at least sound in control for Claire’s sake. “I’ll ride back to town with you.”
“I didn’t want him to hurt you,” she whispered, her voice ragged. “I don’t want anyone to hurt you.”
“Stop sniveling,” Larry ordered. “Becca said she’s coming with us, and that’s what you wanted.” He finally let go of Becca, though he walked so close that his arm brushed against hers and she could smell the perspiration that beaded on his flesh in spite of the coolness of the day.
This was a side of Larry she’d never seen. It stunned her that she could have thought she knew him well, had considered him a friend without ever dreaming he could be this callous. Yet he’d never made a secret of how he felt about David.
Amazingly Claire pulled herself together enough to stand and start walking toward the car, though she looked as if she might drop into a faint at any second. Detective Megham would be upset when he arrived and Becca wasn’t there, but he’d get over it. After all, he was the one who blew off the appointment, and he couldn’t expect her to put her life on hold just so she could be harassed by him.
DAVID STOOD IN THE DOORWAY watching Becca deal with her two friends. After what she’d seen in the library, he’d fully expected her to be gone when he left the lab and came to lunch, but here she was, and all he felt was that strange jumping of his heart that he always experienced when she was near.
He wasn’t surprised that Larry Gayle had shown up, not as furious as he’d been when David had talked to him on the phone last night. But he was surprised he’d brought Claire Cavendish with him, especially now that he saw her from a few yards away. Her flesh was pale and her gait unsteady, as if just walking to the old Ford parked in his driveway was taking all the strength she could muster.
David pushed out the door unnoticed as Larry and Becca neared the car, Claire still several feet behind them. Evidently Becca was leaving with them, without even a look back at the Bluffs. He’d expected her to leave, and still he dreaded it so much that the metallic taste of desperation filled his mouth and dried his throat.
As they neared the car, he saw Larry grab Becca’s arm roughly. The move caught him off guard, but his muscles tensed and he stepped outside, staying half hidden behind a cluster of thick shrubbery.
“I said I would go with you. Now, get your hands off me.”
Becca’s voice was low, barely carrying to where he was standing, but there was no mistaking the tone.
Larry maintained the grip. “Is that what you say to the freak when he touches you?”
“He’s not a freak. He’s kind and smart and he’s—”
“And he’s not too fond of watching someone manhandle a woman.”
Larry dropped his hold on Becca and turned to face David, his mouth twisted into a scowl, his chin jutted forward. “I’ve come to take Becca home, and you need to stay out of this. Moriah’s Landing has had enough of you, and so have I.”
“I see. Becca, do you want to get in this man’s car?”
Becca looked first at Larry and then back to Claire. She dropped back and wrapped a hand around Claire’s waist, before finally letting her gaze settle on David. “I don’t want to go with him, but I need to take care of Claire. She shouldn’t be out here in the condition she’s in.”
“In that case, I’ll have Richard drive you and Claire into town.”
Relief eased the lines in Becca’s neck and face. “I’d appreciate that, David.” She turned to Claire. “David’s butler is going to drive you home, Claire. I’ll go with you. He’s a kind and sensitive man, and he’ll take good care of us.”
Larry beat a fist into the hood of the Ford, then glared at David, his expression making it clear that he would have liked to plant his fist somewhere else.
David met his glaring stare, amazed at how badly he ached to leave the camouflaging cover of the shrubs and get in the man’s face. Only to do that would expose his deformities, put them on display in the bright sunlight. And then he’d have to watch as repulsion drove Becca away forever.
“This is private property, Larry, and your welcome has run out.”
“I’m leaving, but this isn’t the end of this. Your days in this town are numbered. Count on it.” He opened the car door and folded his six-foot-plus frame behind the steering wheel. The elbow of his left arm jutted out the open window as he turned the key in the ignition and gunned the engine before turning back for a parting shot. “You can sleep with the devil, Becca, just don’t expect to get your soul back when you’re done.” A second later his tires squealed as he jerked the car in gear and took off.
David watched the car skid around the first turn, barely missing the ditch that bordered the drive. He had the crazy feeling that his life was like the car, spiraling out of control. And he was pulling Becca along with him, enmeshing her in his life and pulling her into danger that he had no idea how to stop. She was certain the danger was her doing. He knew better. The danger had always lain with him.
“Thanks, David. That was so…”
“Human.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
But it was what she meant. He could see it in her eyes. And for the first time in five years he felt almost human again. Too bad that feelings could not be trusted. He should turn and go back inside, leave things as they were, but he couldn’t. “Will you be coming back with Richard?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Then think about it. You’ll be safe here, and…” He wasn’t one to beg, yet the need inside him was so strong. “I want you with me, Becca.” With that he turned and walked inside, hating himself for needing her when Tasha’s memory was so real inside him. When Tasha’s murder had not been vindicated.
DETECTIVE MEGHAM STOOD next to the chief of police while a hoard of reporters pushed around them with cameras, microphones and wagging pencils. The chief had called a press conference to detail the newly discovered identity of the body that had been found a few days ago. Sally Evers, twenty-two, a recent graduate of Heathrow College who was interviewing in a neighboring district for a teaching job. She’d apparently rented a car and driven to Moriah’s Landing for a few days’ vacation before driving back to Missouri.
But, as Megham had suspected, the chief wasn’t telling much more. He’d left out the fact that the jugular had been severed with two deep cuts, and he’d neither confirmed or denied the leak that the killer had left initials M.L. carved into the woman’s stomach. He’d merely stated the facts concerning the methods used by the killer were confidential so as not to impede the investigation and eventual arrest of the man responsible for the murder.
But Megham wasn’t wasting his time searching the cemetery for some damn ghost. As far as he was concerned, David Bryson was the major suspect. He didn’t have proof, but in the past his intuition in cases like this had been right a lot more often than it had been wrong.
They’d pretty much pinpointed the time of death, and Bryson had been seen in town that night, as always lurking in the shadows and having little to say to anyone. That gave him the opportunity, and any healthy adult male with access to a sharp blade—as in a scalpel—had the ability.
That left motive. Insanity required no real motive, and everyone knew that the beast on the hill was crazy. He’d been questioned in the murders twenty years ago and he’d been questioned in the explosion that took his fiancée’s life five years ago.
Megham had an idea that when the evidence started falling into place, it would be like a row of dominoes dropping, one after another. When the last one fell, Bryson would be behind bars and Moriah’s Landing would go back to being the peacefu
l sort of town Prissy had wanted to retire to.
Now Megham had a new kink in the case. Becca Smith, a seemingly intelligent woman, had apparently become involved with Bryson. While he hated to see Becca put herself into that kind of danger, there wasn’t a lot he could do about it, so he might as well use the situation to his advantage. As soon as this press conference was over, he’d go to the Bluffs and interview her. He was already late for their appointment. It would give him the opportunity he needed to get inside that stone wall and look around, get a feel for the place. All he’d need was one good piece of evidence for the court to grant a search warrant.
“Do you foresee an arrest anytime soon?”
“I’ll defer the questions about the actual investigation to Detective Megham, as he’s heading up the case with the full assets of the department behind him.”
Chief Redfern nodded to him to take the question from the saucy female reporter from the local news TV station. He cleared his throat while weighing his words. “We don’t foresee an imminent arrest, but we are investigating every lead that comes our way.” A dozen reporters started clamoring for his attention. He pointed to a young Asian man in a dark gray suit.
“Do you have any suggestions for how women should protect themselves while this maniac is on the loose?”
“If they go out at night, they should go out in groups or with an escort. Above all, stay out of situations that leave them vulnerable, such as walking home alone at night or being out near the wharf area alone. At this point, we believe that the victim was alone and in an unprotected area at the time of the attack.”
“How did you reach that conclusion?”
“The perpetrator did a good job of avoiding witnesses. Apparently no one saw or heard anything.”
“Is it possible that the villain knew the victim?”
“Anything’s possible.”
He fielded a dozen more questions, all more or less versions of the first few before the chief called a halt to the conference. He sucked in a double helping of relief. Talking to reporters was the part of his job he liked the least, but the public had a right to know—just not the right to know enough to interfere with his investigation. These conferences were always stretched along a fine line of fact and omissions.
He stepped away and headed back inside the station house. Once inside, a spurt of adrenaline revived him to the point he couldn’t wait to get on his way. Next stop the Bluffs and hopefully a chance to meet Dr. David Bryson in person. Wealthy, renowned scientist gone mad.
THE SUN GLINTED OFF the rocks as David stood on the top of the cliff, scattering the petals of white roses. It wasn’t his usual day to honor Tasha’s memory in this way, but since Becca had come into his life, the need to remember every detail about Tasha had swelled to a crescendo, blaring inside his brain.
But try as he might to preserve it, the memory of Tasha had started to dim. Worse, it had begun to merge with images of Becca. At times when he looked into Becca’s eyes, it seemed to be Tasha staring back at him. It was as if Tasha’s spirit haunted the Bluffs, calling to him, whispering his name in the dark of night. But when he closed his eyes, it was Becca’s smile he saw.
His mind shuffled back through the years. It had been different with Tasha from the very beginning. She’d triggered something inside him, released the valve that kept the black, angry secrets of his past locked safely away. She was the first person he’d ever told what it was like growing up in a shanty behind the wharf area where men from town knocked on his mother’s door day and night. Tasha had neither faulted nor excused his mother’s lifestyle, except to say that his mother couldn’t have been all bad. She’d given him life, and Tasha loved her for that.
No one gets to choose their family. The best we can do is just love them and take them as they are. That had been Tasha’s response not only to his past but to the way her family had rebelled against her dating him.
He had loved her so, been certain that he’d never love anyone else, yet his obsession with Becca grew more intense, more agonizing with every second he spent in her presence. Not only was it spoiling his memory of Tasha, it was interfering with his work—the one thing that had seemed to make any sense at all over the last five years.
He thrived on working alone in his lab, and that was one of the reasons he’d moved from being a practicing physician to a medical scientist. He wanted hypotheses that could be proved true or false if the experiments were thorough and ruled out all variables.
He liked making a difference, not in one life, but in countless thousands. Like now. He was so close to another major breakthrough, this time in an area that could save the lives of people who’d already been given a death sentence, good, hardworking people like Brie’s mother. Pamela Dudley’s physician had heard of David’s research and sent David her medical records.
Pamela had been one of the few ladies in town who hadn’t snubbed her nose at David’s mother, and that had earned her a place in his heart. He hadn’t been able to save his mother from the cancer that had robbed her of the will to keep fighting for life, but he still had a chance to save Mrs. Dudley, to give her the opportunity to see her grandchild grow up.
He dropped the last few roses without bothering to scatter the petals. Work was what he needed now. It was the only way to keep the little sanity he had left.
But even as he made his way back to the lab, thoughts of Tasha and Becca tiptoed through his mind. Tasha was dead, but he owed her justice, had to find the man who’d blown up the boat and stolen her life’s breath. Becca was alive, but she’d never be able to love a man whose heart had been broken in so many pieces it would never be whole again. And she’d never desire a body as hideously deformed as the one that encased his soul and mind.
And still he wanted her.
BECCA KEPT UP a steady conversation with Claire on the way back into town. She chattered about the weather, the leaves that had already begun their transformation to the glorious reds and golds that would set the woods on fire in the next few weeks, but her attempts to lighten the mood had little or no effect on Claire or the pit of despair she’d settled into.
“Do you mind if I use your phone?” Becca asked as Richard turned onto Main Street. “I’d like to call Mrs. Cavendish and let her know we’re on our way. I’m sure she’s worried about Claire.”
“Help yourself.”
She dialed the number. Mrs. Cavendish answered on the first ring. “Hello.”
“It’s me, Becca. I’m bringing Claire home.”
“Is she all right?”
“She’s—very upset, almost catatonic.”
“Oh, my poor baby. He hasn’t hurt her, has he?”
“No, Larry didn’t hurt her, but he should have never taken her up to the Bluffs. I can’t imagine what possessed him.”
“I didn’t mean Larry. I meant that beast. Larry just left. He said Dr. Bryson was holding you and Claire at his castle.”
Becca struggled to contain her anger. “Larry lied, Mrs. Cavendish. Dr. Bryson’s butler is driving us home because Larry was turning violent. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Oh, dear. I was so afraid. I was just about to call the police when you called.”
“Then I’m glad I caught you first. Claire’s okay, but she’ll need her medicine and you may want to call her doctor. Most of all, you need to keep her away from Larry Gayle.”
“You can count on that. He told me he and Claire were going to lunch when they left here in my car. I would have never let him take her to the Bluffs.”
“I know.” Becca’s heart went out to Mrs. Cavendish as she ended the conversation and broke the connection. The family had been through so much. Claire’s abduction, then Mr. Cavendish’s untimely death in a construction site accident. Now Becca was pulling them into more trouble.
When Richard turned the corner onto Front Street, she could see Mrs. Cavendish and Tommy, her teenage son, standing on the porch. As soon as he slowed and pulled to the curb, they rushed down
the steps to the car.
Becca jumped from the car and went around to help them get Claire from the back seat. Claire wasn’t trembling anymore, and some of the color had come back to her face, but her eyes were still wide and glazed over, the pupils enlarged.
Tommy practically lifted his sister out of the car and set her down on the sidewalk. “I’m going to give Larry a piece of my mind. You can believe that,” he muttered, supporting most of Claire’s body weight.
Mrs. Cavendish’s eyes were moist and red, and she brushed the back of her sleeve across them. Becca gave her a comforting hug, then leaned against the back fender of the car and watched the three of them, their arms intertwined, slowly climb the steps. This was the house they’d lived in all of Claire’s life. They belonged here. She didn’t.
I want you with me, Becca.
David’s words floated through her mind, as hypnotic and real as if he were here beside her. “Why do you want me?”
“Excuse me.”
“Sorry, Richard. I guess I was talking to myself.” He nodded, as if he understood perfectly.
She couldn’t stay here and she had nowhere else to go—except to a man who’d invaded her mind, stirred passion that she had no idea she was capable of feeling. A man who lived in an isolated castle high on a cliff.
A man whose heart belonged to a dead woman.
Only a fool would make a choice like that. A fool or else a woman who was totally bewitched—or in love.
Chapter Twelve
Becca moved around the small room, packing the last of her clothes and meager belongings into cardboard boxes that Richard had obtained for her from the neighborhood grocer. At first she’d planned on taking only a few essentials, but when she realized how sparse her entire stash of worldly possessions actually amounted to, she decided to pack everything. A woman without a past traveled light.
She’d drop off a few boxes of books, photographs, summer clothes and souvenirs at Threads and take the rest of her belongings with her to the Bluffs. There was certainly plenty of room there. The issue was that if and when she decided to move out of the Bluffs, she didn’t want it to be a major undertaking. Easy come, easy go. That was the only way this could work.
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