by Jenna Ryan
“About what?”
“Take your pick. The guy who knocked you out yesterday, the one down here today, your cousin, her watch, the knife that was thrown at you, the arrow in the front door, the threat on the wall upstairs, Gordie Tallahassee, Robert Drake…”
“Orry Lucas’s wild-goose chase.”
“That was just him being a jackass. He got stuck in Mystic Harbor when his aspiration was to be like your ex. Free and loaded.”
“Someone should tell him about the grass being greener. David was loaded all right, but I wouldn’t have called him free. He had a lot of responsibilities, most of them work related, and an equal number of personal demons. He was a quirky man, and the fact that his stepfamily was deceptively nasty made him a moody man as well. Which is probably why I own Darkwood Manor and they don’t.”
Donovan steered her to the left. “Gimbel was prone to moods?”
“Could be. It’s not necessarily a bad quality.”
“Is your cousin moody, too?”
A fist tightened in Isabella’s chest. “Katie’s a rock. Killer’s her only vice, and he’s not as radical as his nickname sounds. David was a different matter. She said he reminded her of her father. Manipulative, self-centered, greedy.”
“All those negative qualities and you still got involved with the guy?”
“Well, I didn’t know at first, did I? Besides, David wasn’t anywhere near as manipulative as Katie’s dad. She’s jaded where certain types of men are concerned. She’d like you, though.” A smile blossomed. “She’s a sucker for sexy eyes. The water’s up to my knees now, Donovan.”
“I know.”
“Any idea where we are?”
“Yeah.” Draping an arm over her shoulders, he lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, “We’re lost.”
Chapter Nine
He wasn’t joking. The water was hip deep by the time they found an actual uphill tunnel. Fifteen minutes of difficult slogging ended at a narrow set of stairs that led into an old outhouse.
Isabella regarded the bench-style toilet with a doubtful eye. “Very weird place for a tunnel entrance.”
“Location answers one question, though.” Donovan opened the outer door. “The stone ledges over there form a natural stairway up to the ridge.”
Tugging off a boot, she dumped the water out. When she saw where he was looking, she hopped closer. “That’s the three-tier rock, isn’t it? Six big steps above a tunnel entrance. Our shadow from the other night had an escape route.” She noticed that Donovan’s eyes were directed toward town. “Something else?”
“Lindsay met the man you saw today at the Raven. It’s possible someone else met him and knows something.”
After pulling her boot back on, Isabella regarded the ratty ends of her hair. “Is there a dress code at this club?”
“Yeah, leather and felt.”
“Excuse me?”
Setting his hands on her waist, he boosted her onto the first ledge. “It’s Oktoberfest.”
THE DATES MIGHT BE A little off, but the atmosphere in the harborside club was nothing short of boisterous. And yes, there were people dressed in leather pants and Bavarian hats.
An oompah rock band played German music on stage while the crowd danced and drank and stuffed bratwurst sausages in their mouths.
Finally, something that didn’t relate to Aaron Dark. Isabella welcomed the break. Showered and rejuvenated in jeans, high boots and a black turtleneck, she dropped her coat onto a long bench.
“Place has charm,” she acknowledged. “Is that a portrait of Aaron Dark next to the bar?”
“Aaron Leisberg Dark,” a man behind her corrected. “One must acknowledge both parents.” Looking absurd in short pants and thick, white socks, Gordie Tallahassee plucked two glasses of beer from a tray and offered them to her and Donovan. “On the house.” He thumped his chest. “Mein house.”
Isabella tried not to laugh. “You own this place?”
“Part of it. My brother who lives in New York has the lion’s share.”
And he didn’t like that one bit. She gestured with her glass. “What were you saying about Aaron Dark’s parents?”
“Sit.” He pressed her onto the bench. “Donovan can mingle while I tell you the tragic tale of Aaron’s mother. I warn you, though, it’s a rather gruesome story.”
She thought it might be glee that lit his leathery face as he plunked himself down and clinked his glass to hers.
“A toast, to Aaron Leisberg Dark, a madman through no fault of his own. The fact is, my dear, Aaron’s mother tried to kill him a few short weeks after he was born.”
DONOVAN KNEW THE STORY well. He also knew that Isabella would be perfectly safe while he walked around. There was nothing Gordie loved more than to frighten people with his version of the local lore.
His mind slipped backward as he moved through the crowd. He’d screwed up big-time down in the tunnels. Somehow, the shooter had gotten past him. He’d tracked the five shots deep into the system. The farther he’d gone, the less passageways he’d encountered. The footsteps he’d heard had been well ahead of him before they, like the bullets, had stopped.
He’d considered going on but had decided to backtrack and find Isabella. Less than halfway there, she’d shouted his name, and everything inside him had turned liquid.
The bastard shooter had gotten around him.
Sipping his beer, he controlled the emotions swirling darkly in his belly and searched for the disconnect that would allow him to think the way he should. Or not, he reflected when someone’s fingers crawled slowly up his back.
“Aren’t you the sweetie-pie, letting Gordie the Gorgon highjack your lady thirty seconds after you arrive.” A smirking Darlene leaned into him. “Pretty city girl starting to get to you, cuz? But how do you protect someone you’re starting to care about from a ghost, and a vicious one at that? Best way I can think of would be to make her leave.”
He caught the finger she’d started to drill into his ribs. “I had a more practical solution in mind. Bust the ass of whoever’s trying to run her out of town.”
“Ooh, now you’re going all John Wayne on us.”
“Yeah? Who’s us?”
She tugged on her hand. “Everyone. Me, my mother, Gordie, the waitress over there who’s ogling your butt…”
“Orry?”
Increasingly vexed, Darlene used her other hand to pry free. “How should I know? When did you get so literal anyway?”
“A couple hours ago, after a bullet flew past me in a tunnel under Darkwood Manor.”
She stopped moving to stare. “Someone shot at you? I know you’re a fed and all, but—well, why?”
“No idea—yet.”
“That sounds…” Her brow furrowing, she gave her slinky top a tug. “Wait a minute, did you just say there are tunnels under the manor?”
“I said tunnel, not tunnels.”
“Oh, crap. Here we go again.” She jabbed the air in front of him. “I don’t know what your deal is, Donovan, but I haven’t done anything, so lay off the bait.”
“You want it straight, tell me who’s trying to bully Isabella into leaving Mystic Harbor.”
“How do you equate someone shooting at you with an attempt to bully her?”
“We were in that tunnel together.” He took a drink of beer, scanned the growing crowd. “Someone wants Isabella gone. That same person probably wanted Gimbel gone as well.”
“Are you saying this mystery person tampered with his car?”
“Could be.”
She slashed an X through the air. “Man, I do not need this tonight. I came here for a good time, and I intend to have one.”
“Well, hell, honey, you always do that.” George’s slurred voice came from Donovan’s left. She used her hands like grapple hooks on his shoulder. “Going outside for a smoke break, Agent Black. Wanna join me? I warn you, though, I’m in a major funk. I applied myself to the lodge’s books today and discovered I’m seven K in the
red for September. Tack on another four from August and two from July, and I’ll be well on my way to bankruptcy by spring. While that might make Daddy’s nasty old proviso go away, it could also land me in one of Gunnar’s cells, because where else am I gonna go with no money, no credit, no job and no roof?”
“Don’t sweat it, Ma.” Darlene glowered at Donovan. “You can get a job at Darkwood Manor when Isabella’s family turns it into a hotel. Of course it’ll take a bit of money to make the place habitable, and one titanic exorcism to get rid of the resident ghost, but barring disaster they’ll need someone on the front desk.” She paused to let a satisfied smile slide across her lips. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, cousin, but your pretty bird’s ditched her perch.”
Following her gaze, Donovan saw a bench packed with people, but no Isabella.
And even more disturbing, no Gordie Tallahassee.
“STOP GLARING AT ME.” Isabella strode ahead of Donovan down a black-lit corridor. “I don’t need your permission to use the washroom.”
He caught her by the arm, swung her gently around. “I’m sorry, Isabella. I saw that you and Gordie were gone, and I overreacted.”
She regarded him for a moment, then decided he was sincere. “Okay, apology accepted.”
“Simple as that?”
She scratched at the zipper of his jacket. “I don’t hold grudges, Black, contrary to Grandpa C’s insistence that any self-respecting grandchild of his should.” She brought her mouth to within an inch of his bottom lip. “As for leaving me with that sadist who calls himself a Realtor…” The kiss she gave him would have cost her her focus if she hadn’t kept a picture of Gordie’s turtlelike face firmly in place. “Do it again, and I’ll shoot you.” She nipped the corner of his mouth. “With your own gun.” She rolled her hips into his. “In more than one vulnerable spot.” Drawing back, she let her eyes glitter. “Savvy?”
“Maybe.” Catching her waist this time, he hauled her against him. “But just so we’re clear…”
Nothing about Donovan’s kiss was playful. There was no sense of discovery, no lazy exploration. No tasting, no tempting, no going slow. Tonight, with everything that had happened and so much upheaval inside, it was suddenly all about heat and hunger and unrestrained desire.
His mouth took possession of hers in a way that made her want to possess right back. His tongue plunged in deep while his fingers under her hair held her in place.
Not that she wanted to go anywhere. What she wanted to do, what she very nearly did, was let her own fingers tear his shirt apart so she could run her hands over the muscles of his chest.
Instead, she fed off him and walked that fine line between reason and desire. She could pull away now, or give in and allow the heat inside to billow and surge until it consumed her.
She couldn’t help flirting with temptation. Donovan was dark and dangerous and completely intoxicating. His kisses were a drug to her system. There was something wonderfully forbidden about the way his mouth ravaged hers. The taste of him slapped back any thought of resistance.
He’d gone rock-hard against her. She wanted to take him in her hands. Not feel him through his jeans, but go skin to skin, with no words, no barriers and no reason to stop.
Tiny points of heat pricked her skin as his mouth left hers to run along the side of her neck. When his hand moved to her breast, her head fell back. It amazed her how much pleasure such a simple touch could evoke.
Damn, he was good at this, too good under the circumstances. But she didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to care. Might not have if a cluster of cowbells jangling nearby hadn’t yanked her back.
She felt Donovan’s lips curve. “Ten-second slam.” He pressed a kiss to the vulnerable spot under her ear, then raised his head a fraction. “Down your drink in less than ten seconds, and the next one’s on the house.”
With a sigh of regret, Isabella loosened her grip on his hair and dropped her hands to his shoulders. “Ten seconds more, and drinks wouldn’t have been the only things going down.” She summoned a hazy smile, rested her back on the wall. “We need some separation, Donovan. I do anyway.”
The cowbells clanged again, a raucous sound that shouldn’t have made her laugh but did. She supposed she should be grateful for it even if she didn’t appreciate the intrusion.
When Donovan skimmed a kiss across her still-warm lips, she let her smile widen. “That better not be another apology, Black.”
He ran his thumb along her lower lip. “You’re playing with ancestral fire, Isabella. You don’t know what I might be capable of. Did Gordie tell you about Aaron Dark’s mother?”
“Yes, and in today’s world, we have two words for her medical condition. Postpartum depression.”
Before Donovan could respond, a door banged opened and George rushed in, smelling of smoke and beer. “There’s a guy in the parking lot, slashing tires.”
With his eyes on Isabella’s, Donovan asked, “Where’s Orry?”
“Probably passed out under a table. It’s his night off, and that was the third round of cowbells in the past hour. It’s a big knife, Donovan.”
He reached behind him for his gun. “Go into the main room with George, Isabella. If you see Orry, tell him to get his butt outside.” Catching her chin for a quick kiss, he warned, “Don’t follow me.”
More people ran in. “It’s Denny Lucas,” one of them shouted.
“It was probably him the other night, too.” George shooed Isabella along. “Rumor is he carried a switchblade in high school. Come on, hon. There were a lot of people on the side patio, and getting stuck in this little corridor won’t be much fun if they stampede.”
A second wave of partygoers bolted past. An elbow sank into Isabella’s ribs. “Is this the only entrance from the patio?” she asked.
“It’s the easiest way in. Don’t know why Denny goes ballistic from time to time, and it’s a sure bet Orry won’t get any answers from him. But in the end, I suppose we all have our triggers.”
Isabella ducked as someone holding a fire extinguisher high in the air ran against the flow. “This is insane. What’s Denny’s trigger? Too much liquor?”
“Can be, but it’s early for that. I’m thinking Darlene. They were a couple once upon a time. Denny never could let go.”
“And slashing tires makes him feel better?” A heavy foot landed on her toe. “Ouch. George, stop pushing. I can only move as fast as the people in front of me.” And there were at least a dozen, all shouting for someone, anyone, to stop the crazy man outside before he punched a hole in their tires.
For the life of her Isabella didn’t know where it came from, but when she glanced down, there was a paper napkin in her hand.
A chill skated along her spine. She stopped moving forward, and after a slight hesitation, stepped to the side.
“What are you doing?” a bewildered George demanded.
Nerves quivered in Isabella’s stomach. Don’t look, her brain whispered. But her hands ignored the warning and opened the napkin.
The words, written as if by a child, leaped off the surface.
STAY OUT OF MY HOUSE!
ISABELLA DIDN’T KNOW what disturbed her more, the note that had appeared out of nowhere or the sight of Denny Lucas up close.
The man was big, bald and terrifying to behold. His shirt and pants strained at the seams, and he was missing three fingertips on his left hand. He scowled as he tore and lit matches one by one from a ratty pack. To her surprise, he shot more lethal looks in Orry’s direction than Donovan’s.
“I got a little crazy.” He regarded a burning match. “Only stuck ten tires.”
“The ones on my brand-new truck being four of them,” Orry accused.
“Five.” Denny extinguished the flame with a surprisingly light breath. “Got your spare, too.”
While Orry turned three shades of red, Donovan hoisted himself onto a cabinet. “Why’d you do it, Den?”
“Wouldn’t you if you had the chance? Com
e on, Donovan—Sheriff left a weasel in charge of things. Say different, Orry, and I’ll do your station wagon next. Charge me, and I’ll rip out your lily-yellow liver.”
“I’m not going to charge you,” Orry said through his teeth. “But I expect to be compensated for my loss.”
“What about the other vehicles?” Donovan asked.
“I got the first mixed up with Orry’s. I only did one tire on the third. That was just me being riled up.”
“No one paid you to create a diversion?”
“Hell, no.” He struck another match, let it singe his thumb and finger. “I do for myself, not others.”
Donovan’s tone remained pleasant. “I heard you lost your job at the processing plant last month.”
“Me and thirty other guys. Cutting tires isn’t gonna get it back.”
“Just made you feel better, huh?”
“Yup.”
“In that case—” Donovan hopped down “—we’re done.”
Finally, Orry spluttered back to life. “What do you mean, you’re done? You hauled him in here.”
“I did you a favor, Acting Sheriff. The rest is up to you. By the way, you’ve got lipstick on your collar.”
Denny snickered and tore off another match. Orry’s cheeks lost their color. It boiled back up a moment later, along with the veins in his neck. “Get out of here, the pair of you. You’ve been a pain in my butt since we were kids, Donovan, and your girlfriend there is either looking to drum up publicity for her ill-gotten gain or she’s working on some kind of delusion. I still haven’t seen any sign of a cousin.”
With the napkin tucked deep in her pocket, Isabella raised unperturbed brows. “Does that mean you’ve been to Darkwood Manor and conducted a thorough investigation?”
“I don’t have to investigate. Damn place is a deathtrap. It should be condemned. No one with half a brain would set foot through the front door.”
“Means he’s still afraid to go inside,” Donovan said.
Denny snorted out a laugh. “Got bigger fish to fry’s more like it, because he’s sure as hell’s gone in. I saw him do it a couple days ago. I downed three beers and chopped a couple bushels of firewood before he slunk back out. Now, what do you suppose a weasel would be doing in a haunted house for more than an hour?”
