Moriah's Landing Bundle

by Amanda Stevens

  Richard had offered to help with the packing, as had Mrs. Cavendish, but Becca was more comfortable sifting through her own things and saying goodbye to the room and another time in her life that would never return. A rented room wouldn’t mean much to most people, but it was as much home as any Becca could remember.

  Although the tiny room didn’t compare to the grandeur of the Bluffs, it had been hers. The Bluffs belonged to David and to Tasha’s memory, perhaps even to Tasha’s ghost. Certainly the spirit of David’s dead fiancée seemed to inhabit the place. Apprehension gathered inside her in prickly sensations and jabbing bouts of nausea. There was a good chance she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

  Had Tasha Pierce wondered that same thing when she’d gone to the Bluffs on the last night of her life? Was that why her spirit still roamed the halls and perhaps left cold spots in the house where she’d been supposed to live as Mrs. David Bryson?

  She pushed the ridiculous ideas from her mind. It was the attempt on her life and Claire’s emotional state that was spooking her so. The Bluffs was just a house. David Bryson was just a man.

  And if she was wrong about that, heaven help her.

  “DID YOU CALL DAVID and tell him I was coming home with you?” she asked as Richard pulled away from the Cavendish home, the back seat and the trunk of the car loaded to capacity.

  “I did. He seemed pleased, and he said to tell you that you have a visitor on the way.”

  “Detective Megham must be determined to see me in spite of our missed appointments.”

  “Apparently. The detective says he has important news.”

  News—or a warrant for David’s arrest. The apprehension that had been churning inside her settled into full-blown dread as they started toward Threads to drop off a few boxes before heading up Old Mountain Road.

  MEGHAM PERCHED ON THE EDGE of the antique Victorian chair in the drawing room, awkwardly, as if he thought the furniture might not support his weight. Becca sat on the sofa, facing him. He’d wanted David to be present for the questioning, but David had refused, saying he was involved in an experiment that he couldn’t leave at the time. The best he could offer was to take part in the discussion via speakerphone.

  That bit of news hadn’t surprised Becca. She’d never seen David outside the dark and shadows, and she hadn’t expected he’d just walk into the drawing room as if it was an everyday matter. Megham, however, was obviously irritated that David had refused to show up in person. He finished questioning Becca first, then had Richard get his boss on the phone. His questions to him were pointed and curt.

  “I realize murder is not high on your priority list, Dr. Bryson, but I’d like to hear your version of what happened on Old Mountain Road yesterday.”

  David wasted no words in describing how he’d heard the crash, then found Becca slumped over the wheel of the wrecked car.

  “So you never saw the driver of the other vehicle?” Megham asked, his tone suggesting he didn’t totally believe David.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Well, at least you were out of the house. From what I hear, you don’t venture out during the daylight hours.”

  “Is my lifestyle part of this investigation?”

  “It could be, before it’s all said and done. Why did you bring Becca Smith back to your house instead of taking her home or to the hospital?”

  “Is it a crime to take care of a friend after she’s had a bad experience?”

  “I’ll ask the questions here, Bryson. You just answer,” Megham sputtered, becoming more flustered by the second. “Why did you bring Becca to the Bluffs?”

  “I can answer that,” she said.

  Megham stared at her coldly. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

  “David and I are friends. I was frightened and upset, and he took care of me.”

  Megham leaned forward, his bushy brows knitted and drawn tight over his eyes. “You have strange taste in friends.”

  “Nonetheless I came here by choice.”

  He shook his head, glaring at her as if he thought she’d taken complete leave of her senses.

  “So what is this news you mentioned when you called earlier?” Becca asked.

  Megham pulled a wrapped cigar out of his shirt pocket, worried it for a few seconds, then stuck it back in his pocket. “We’ve located the car used to force you off the road, or at least what’s left of it.”

  “Where?” she asked, springing to full attention.

  “On the outskirts of town.”

  She sucked in a grateful breath. “Surely if you found the car, you can track it down to its owner.”

  “We did. The car was stolen from the driveway of a retired couple down on Armstrong Street. They’re visiting their daughter in Illinois, didn’t even know it was missing until we got the phone number from a neighbor and called them.”

  “But the car should have fingerprints.”

  “If the guy left prints, they’re destroyed now. He set the vehicle on fire. The only reason we were able to match it to the owner was that the car exploded and sent the license plate careering through space like a missle. It landed a few yards away, basically undamaged.”

  Her surge of optimism disappeared as quickly as it had bloomed. “So that leaves us nowhere again.”

  “Pretty much.” He finally scooted back in his chair and crossed an ankle over his knee. “You know, Becca, you’ve pretty much set yourself up as a target.”

  “How is that?” David asked, his voice booming from the speakerphone.

  “Hanging out with you. You’re not the most popular man in town, you know?”

  “Who Becca chooses as a friend doesn’t give anyone the right to claim open season on her.”

  “I’m not saying it does,” Megham answered. “I just think she’d be wise to stay away from you.”

  “I’m not just ‘hanging out’ with David, Detective, I’m living at the Bluffs for a while.”

  His face hardened into a misshapen sculpture. “Then I’d say you’re making a very big mistake. There’s already been one woman murdered in this town. I’d hate to see you become the second.”

  “If idle insinuations are all you have to offer, Megham, I think I’ll get back to work. I’m sure Becca has better things to do with her time, too. I’ll have my butler show you to the door.”

  Megham’s face turned a blustery red, but he had no comeback for David. Funny, but in this situation, it was David who seemed the older and wiser of the two men, certainly the one in control. And she felt incredibly young and vulnerable, unsure of herself in every way. But she’d have to grow up fast. Her life might very well depend on it. And the last thing she wanted to become was a pawn in a game orchestrated by a murderer.

  ON WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, two days after Becca had moved in with David Bryson, Brie Pierce sat in the wooden swing on the Cavendish front porch, using her right foot to maintain the steady, hypnotizing motion of the swing. The chains squeaked slightly, and condensation from the glass of lemonade she was holding rolled across her fingers. Claire sat in the birchwood rocker, rocking back and forth and toying with a shredded tissue.

  Claire had called and asked her to come by for a few minutes, said she needed to talk to her, but so far Claire had said very little. Still, Brie sensed something different about her, a slight change in the agitation Claire had begun demonstrating after the abduction five years ago.

  Brie sipped the lemonade. “Are you still worried about Becca?”

  “Not as much as I was, but I’d feel better if she wasn’t staying with David Bryson.”

  “My family says the same thing. Have you heard from her since she moved out?”

  “She called this morning.”

  “How did she sound?”

  “The same as always, but I know she’s falling under David’s spell, the same way Tasha did. Sometimes I think he’s McFarland Leary reincarnated.”

  “I don’t even want to think about that.” Brie watched a squirrel scurry ar
ound the roots of an oak tree, then scamper off across the yard. “You said when you called that you needed to talk.”

  Claire chewed on the end of a fingernail, then clasped her hands together in her lap. “I think my memory of the abduction is starting to come back. I’m remembering things that had been lost before, sights and even smells. I remember the same things I’ve always remembered, but everything’s more intense and I seem to move further into the setting, as if I’m there again.”

  The words came out in a rush, the syllables running over one another so badly that it took Brie a minute for the message to sink in. When it did, she shuddered and a lump settled in her stomach like a ball of cold wax. “Do you remember a face?”

  “No, not yet. But last night I was in my room alone, staring out the window, and I saw myself lying on a gurney in a dark room. I had tubes attached to my arms and one stuck down my throat. I was trying to pull away, but I was so weak I couldn’t move. I opened my mouth to scream and something hot and sticky, like blood, gurgled from my throat and ran down my neck.”

  Brie stopped the swing, reached across the space that separated them and took Claire’s hands in hers. “How horrible. Let’s not even talk about it.”

  “But I have to remember. I want to remember. It’s the only way I’ll ever be able to get past the terror and have any kind of normal life.”

  “I guess. I keep thinking about the man who did that to you. I wonder if he’s the man who killed Sally Evers.”

  “I wonder the same thing, and sometimes I think I would have been better off if he’d killed me, too.”

  “Don’t talk that way. It’s always better to be alive. You’ll get better. I know you will.”

  “I keep hoping.”

  “You will. I’m just so thankful Geoffrey happened by when he did the other night when you and Becca were almost attacked.”

  “He called me yesterday.”

  “Really? What did he want?”

  “He just asked how I was doing. I don’t know him that well, but he seems such a nice person.”

  “I don’t know, Claire. Drew doesn’t fully trust him, not since Dr. Leland Manning was arrested, but then Drew can be a tad suspicious.”

  “That’s a politician for you.”

  “True, but Geoffrey does seem upset about something, or else he and Drew’s dad have had a falling out we don’t know about. He’s moved down to the family beach house, doesn’t even attend family dinners and celebrations anymore.”

  “At any rate, he saved my life, and I was glad for the chance to thank him. I was too upset to have anything to do with him that night.”

  “Just don’t trust him too much. That’s all I’m saying. Now, about these memories—have you talked to your doctor about them?”

  “Yes, and he agrees that I might be on the brink of remembering vital information.” Claire let go of Brie’s hands and started rocking again, slower this time, as if each movement took effort. “I’m thinking I should go back to the cemetery, that if I stand next to the mausoleum where I was abducted I might finally remember the face of the man who abducted me.”

  “It’s too risky. Your emotional state is too fragile. Just give yourself time. You’ll remember when your mind and body are ready.”

  “I suppose. It’s just that I’m so worried about Becca.”

  “I know. We all are, but Becca’s a very capable woman. I’m sure she didn’t just move into the Bluffs without giving it serious thought.” Brie stood and gave Claire a hug. She couldn’t stay much longer. Drew was speaking to the local teachers association tonight, and he wanted her to go with him. And she loved being at his side. She loved him so.

  She wished for that same kind of love for Becca and for Claire one day. But mostly, she just prayed they stayed safe and sane.

  BECCA RAN HER fingers along the worn drapes in the drawing room, envisioning the way the room would look when she had the new ones ready to hang. She wished she had more time to devote to the redecorating, but with dresses to finish for the Fall Extravaganza, a couple of weeks absence from Threads was all she could spare right now—time to recover completely from the wreck. Time to adjust to living with David.

  Her contact with David had been minimal since moving in. He was in his lab from daybreak until dark, and the few times she’d seen him at all had been from a distance, down the length of one of the dark hallways. Yet she sensed his presence everywhere, his and Tasha’s. And he’d visited her in her dreams every night, each one becoming more and more erotic, as if her unconscious were compensating for his physical slights.

  In spite of David’s absence, Richard and the entire staff went out of their way to make her feel welcome, but she knew that the changes around the rambling castle made them all a little nervous. Security was tighter, with newer and even more technically sophisticated equipment mounted at the electric gates and around the property. And the doors to the main house were kept locked, even during the day.

  Her arrival had changed the beautiful castle to a guarded fortress, all David’s way of protecting her, though he never mentioned it.

  She wandered the hallway, back up the stairs and to the spot where she had felt the rush of cold air before. The hairs on her neck stood on end as a sheet of icy air climbed her spine and seemed to settle deep in her bones. But the house was old. Surely there was a rational explanation for the change in temperature.

  She tried the door. It was locked tight, just as it had been before, though she hadn’t encountered any other doors inside the house that were locked.

  The cleaning woman was in a room a few doors down the hall. She could hear her walking around, humming a tune as she worked. Her keys were still in the door, dangling from the lock, inviting, beckoning.

  Becca looked away, then back again. No one would miss the keys in the seconds it would take her to unlock the other door. As if in a trance, she walked to the open door, slipped her fingers over the keys and silently pulled them from the lock. Hands shaking, she tried several keys in the new lock, finally finding one that turned easily. Then, barely daring to breathe, she turned the knob, pushed the door open and stepped inside the room.

  Stepped inside a shrine to Tasha Pierce.

  She shivered as her gaze swept the room. It was just as it must have looked five years ago. Bouquets of fresh white roses filled cut-crystal vases. Two champagne flutes set on a silver tray, ready for toasting. And the bridal dress, a frothy concoction of silk and lace, lay across the bed, the train flowing to the floor, the headpiece and veil like a crown above it all.

  Everything ready for the bride who had never made it to her wedding.

  Becca staggered backward, consumed by an emptiness that left her weak. So much love. So needlessly lost. David and Tasha, soul mates who’d been torn apart by an explosion that had never been explained.

  Her mind seemed to travel back in time and link with Tasha’s. Blinking back tears, Becca crossed the room and picked up the exquisite headpiece and veil. She slipped it on, adjusting the veil so that it fell over her face. Then, carefully, as if the fabric might dissolve at her touch, she lifted the wedding dress and held it to her shoulders.

  Her reflection stared back at her from the angled floor mirror and she could feel the swish of silk around her legs and ankles. Closing her eyes tight against the light and the glare of reality, she swayed back and forth, envisioned herself dancing with David. The moment was incredibly sweet.

  She imagined David’s lips on hers, his hands tangled in her hair, pulling her close. “I love you,” she whispered, not even aware of what she was saying. Only aware of the intensity of the passion that swirled inside her.

  “Tasha!”

  She opened her eyes with a start and stared at the man who stood in front of her, seeing him for the first time in the bright light of day. It was a sight she would never forget.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The wedding dress slipped from Becca’s shaking fingers and pooled at her feet. David’s eyes were dark,
penetrating, his gaze so intense, she felt as if he held her with some invisible force. She was conscious of the thick locks of dark hair that fell across his brow, of the scar that ran down the side of his face, of the jut of his strong jaw, but they were drowned in the emotions that swelled and churned inside her.

  “You had no business coming into this room, Becca.” His voice was bitter, accusing.

  “I’m sorry, David. I’m really sorry.” She took a step toward him, but he turned away and faced the wall.

  “Just get out of here. That’s all I ask. Leave me some small shred of pride.”

  Bending, she picked up the dress and spread it across the bed just as she’d found it.

  “Are you happy now, Becca? You wanted to see the hideous wound and now you have. It’ll make a great horror story to tell your friends on dark, stormy nights.”

  “The scar’s not so bad, David.”

  “It made you sick to look at it. Do you think I’m blind, that I didn’t see the repulsion that turned your stomach? You couldn’t even look at me.”

  “It was just the initial shock. It’s not important. It’s not who you are.”

  “It’s all I am. All that’s left of me. Now, please leave this room, Becca. You have free run of the rest of the house and I’ll make certain you never have to face me again.”

  “Would you like me to leave the Bluffs?”

  “No. Please, don’t go. You’ll be safe here.”

  Safe but alone. She ached to go to him and wrap her arms around him. But he stood with his back to her, his stature ramrod straight.

  “Don’t climb back into your shell, David. Please. Don’t leave me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  But he was. He was going back to some dark place inside himself where she’d never be able to find him. A place where only memories of Tasha lived and a time when he’d been whole and free. Back to a life that had no room for her or any of the outside world.