by Rebecca York
She couldn’t see him…
But the bedroom air stirred. Then she felt his kiss, a butterfly kiss, on her lips. A caress that tantalized her senses, that made her capable of nothing else but returning his kiss.
It was as though he knew her, how to tease her, how to please her. “Troy?” Bree whispered. But he remained silent, never stopping, drawing her into his sensual spell.
Deep inside she felt doubt stirring. Whether this man was Troy or not, he had come to her without announcing his name or his intentions. He’d come to her bed like a phantom lover.
Her eyes flew open. She couldn’t see him, but she pushed him away. For a millisecond she felt the resistance of warm flesh, of muscle and bone. Then her hands pressed upward through chilled, empty air.
He was gone. Vanished, as silently and as swiftly as he had come to her.
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
This month Harlequin Intrigue has a healthy dose of breathtaking romantic suspense to reignite you after the cold winter days. Kicking things off, Susan Kearney delivers the first title in her brand-new trilogy HEROES INC., based on a specially trained team of sexy agents taking on impossible missions. In Daddy to the Rescue, an operative is dispatched to safeguard his ex-wife from the danger that threatens her. Only, now he also has to find the child she claims is his!
Rebecca York returns with the latest installment in her hugely popular 43 LIGHT STREET series. Phantom Lover is a supersexy gothic tale of suspense guaranteed to give you all kinds of fantasies…. Also appearing this month is another veteran Harlequin Intrigue author, Patricia Rosemoor, with the next title in her CLUB UNDERCOVER miniseries. In VIP Protector, a bodyguard must defend a prominent attorney from a crazed stalker. But can he protect her from long-buried secrets best left hidden?
Finally rounding out the month is the companion title in our MEN ON A MISSION theme promotion, Tough as Nails, from debut author Jackie Manning. Here an estranged couple must join forces to solve a deadly mystery, but will their close proximity fuel the flames of passion smoldering between them?
So pick up all four of these thrilling, action-packed stories for a full course of unbelievable excitement!
Sincerely,
Denise O’Sullivan
Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue
PHANTOM LOVER
REBECCA YORK
RUTH GLICK WRITING AS REBECCA YORK
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award-winning, bestselling novelist Ruth Glick, who writes as Rebecca York, is the author of close to eighty books, including her popular 43 LIGHT STREET series for Harlequin Intrigue. Ruth says she has the best job in the world. Not only does she get paid for telling stories; she’s also the author of twelve cookbooks. Ruth and her husband, Norman, travel frequently, researching locales for her novels and searching out new dishes for her cookbooks.
Books by Rebecca York
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
143—LIFE LINE*
155—SHATTERED VOWS*
167—WHISPERS IN THE NIGHT*
179—ONLY SKIN DEEP*
188—BAYOU MOON
193—TRIAL BY FIRE*
213—HOPSCOTCH*
233—CRADLE AND ALL*
253—WHAT CHILD IS THIS?*
273—MIDNIGHT KISS*
289—TANGLED VOWS*
298—TALONS OF THE FALCON†
301—FLIGHT OF THE RAVEN†
305—IN SEARCH OF THE DOVE†
318—TILL DEATH US DO PART*
338—PRINCE OF TIME*
407—FOR YOUR EYES ONLY*
437—FATHER AND CHILD*
473—NOWHERE MAN*
500—SHATTERED LULLABY*
534—MIDNIGHT CALLER*
558—NEVER TOO LATE*
606—BAYOU BLOOD BROTHERS
“Tyler”
625—THE MAN FROM TEXAS**
633—NEVER ALONE**
641—LASSITER’S LAW**
667—FROM THE SHADOWS*
684—GYPSY MAGIC
“Alessandra”
706—PHANTOM LOVER*
Dear Reader,
In Phantom Lover I wanted to write a novel with all the classic gothic trappings. You know how a gothic tale starts. A naive young woman comes to an isolated estate to be the governess of a young child. She’s immediately immersed in a world of secrets and intrigue, a world where nothing is as it seems—and the master of the house is a dark, brooding man with deep emotional wounds. Yet his sexual attraction for the heroine is powerful. Can she trust him? Should she surrender to him? Can her love save his soul?
I had a wonderful time playing with these themes, and I pushed them to their limits. My isolated estate is called Ravencrest. In my story that dark, brooding hero, Troy London, may be a ghost. Or is he? That’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself.
There are a couple of the classic elements that I did bend in my story. I love to write a sensual book, and this one is no exception. Troy London wants Bree, and he uses all his considerable skill as a lover to get what he wants. And then there’s my heroine. She’s smart enough to bring a gun along with her to Ravencrest. But she simply couldn’t calculate the risks she’d be taking by setting foot on the estate.
Enjoy!
Ruth Glick writing as Rebecca York
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Troy London—Was he dead or alive? Desperate or calculating?
Bree Brennan—Could she save the man she loved? Was he worth saving?
Helen London—She was sending Bree into a dangerous situation.
Dinah London—Had Troy’s daughter seen her father recently, or was she telling stories?
Nola Sterling—Why was she giving Bree a hard time?
Abner Sterling—Was Nola’s husband dangerous or deranged? Or both?
Foster Graves—Was he just the handyman—or a major player in the drama unfolding at Ravencrest?
Edith Martindale—Was she an ally or an enemy?
Miss Carpenter—Did the former schoolteacher get fired, or was she scared into quitting?
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Prologue
Troy London squinted against the wind blowing salt spray into his face and matting the dark hair to his forehead. Tipping back his head, he looked up to the cliffs at the great house towering above the ocean.
Ravencrest. The estate his great-grandfather had built. For the first time in months he felt the joy of coming home to this place. Well, a muted joy, with the present problems hanging over him. But he would solve them— one way or the other. And then he’d get his life back on track again.
Deftly he maneuvered the small craft through the swells, finding the calm channel between the towering rocks.
He had sailed these waters since he was a boy. For sport and for the challenge of pitting his mind and body against the elements.
He found the ring anchored to the rock and tied up the boat, then waited for a swell to crest before stepping off onto the landing platform, slippery with ocean water. Using the familiar handholds, he climbed the rough-hewn steps toward the top of the cliff.
He could have approached the house from the headlands. But then he would be visible from the west-facing windows. Instead, he stopped at the entrance to one
of the secret tunnels carved into the stone. Opening the door, he slipped into a dark passage.
A flashlight was hanging from the wall, and he used it to guide his way up a steep slope and then more stairs.
At breakfast he’d announced his intention to go sailing. He’d made sure they saw him heading out into the ocean. But he’d come back sooner than they expected, hugging the coast to keep from being spotted.
And now perhaps he could get the evidence he needed, because he wouldn’t act without proof.
A sick feeling overtook him. It was tinged with his own guilt—over what he’d done and what he hadn’t done, if the truth be told.
Still, he’d expected better than this, and he’d thought long and hard about what to do. He was still hoping he was mistaken. Hoping against hope that he’d read all the signals wrong.
Stopping at a fork in the passage, he listened intently, then moved silent as a panther toward one of the rooms.
He’d laid a trap there the day before. Now he would see what he had caught.
He set down the flashlight, then pressed on a hidden panel and stepped into the back of a closet. Slowly he opened the door, just enough to see into the room. The man was there, just as he’d suspected, just as he’d feared.
“What are you doing?” he asked, keeping his voice low and steady as he walked into the room.
The man’s eyes widened. “Where did you come from?”
“That’s not important. Answer my question.” He walked forward, his gaze focused on the interloper, so that he didn’t see that another person was standing in the bathroom.
At the last second a flash of movement caught the corner of his eye and he realized his mistake. But it was too late. The blow came crashing down on his head. And then there was only blackness.
Chapter One
Fog rolled in from the west, obscuring the rugged coastline north of San Francisco. There was no guardrail, the narrow stretch of road was slick, and Bree Brennan slowed her rental car, thinking that if she plunged into the ocean, it would be her own damn fault.
She’d been acting recklessly when she’d taken a leave of absence from the Light Street Detective Agency. She was still acting recklessly. The new Bree Brennan, she thought with a mental shake of her head. When she’d joined the agency two years ago, she’d been Bonnie. Now she was Bree—a different person. More daring. More in charge of her life. At least in her own eyes.
Only the farther she’d come along California Highway One, the more second thoughts she’d had. Her old persona whispered in her head that she should turn around and go home. But she simply couldn’t do it. She’d be letting down a lot of people, including the new Bree Brennan. And her friend Helen London.
When a shaft of lightning shattered the darkening sky, Bree responded with a quavery laugh. If she’d been the director of a horror movie, she couldn’t have done a better job of setting the scene: the naive young woman driving through the storm toward a spooky old mansion. Except this was no movie. It was real life.
Helen’s distraught phone call from Macedonia echoed in her mind.
“I’m so scared. I’m afraid Troy is dead. I haven’t talked to him in two weeks. And his e-mails are really strange—like somebody else is writing them for him.”
She was talking about her older brother, Troy London, both of them named by an eccentric father with a passion for Greek literature.
Bree had gotten to know Troy seven years earlier when she’d been visiting the Londons’ summer place—their ranch in Montana. She’d been attracted to him, and she’d thought the attraction was mutual. Then she’d been called away abruptly to take care of problems at home. Once she was back in her own environment, she’d told herself a relationship with Troy wouldn’t have worked anyway. He came from a world of wealth and privilege, so different from her own background.
Still, she’d never let go of the memories of a virile, vibrant young man with dark hair, warm hazel eyes and a ready smile.
Like his sister, he didn’t need to work, but both siblings had wanted meaningful jobs. Helen was a Foreign Service Officer. Troy had specialized in taking failing companies, turning them around and selling them at a profit. He’d had exactly the life he wanted, until a year ago when his wife had been killed in a car accident and he had shut himself away at Ravencrest, his estate on the northern California coast.
Bree slammed on her brakes as another fork of lightning split the sky directly in front of her, illuminating the entrance to the property. Great timing, she thought as she turned in at the access road. Ravencrest was one of the few large tracts of property left along the coast. Most of the big estates had been subdivided or turned into parks and other public access areas. But Ravencrest was a throwback to another era.
In a fast and furious exchange of e-mail, after their initial phone conversation, she and Helen had cooked up a plan to get Bree into the house—a plan that would keep her here while she found out what was going on. It had made sense back in Baltimore. Now…
Now she was dead tired and full of doubts. She’d gotten up at the crack of dawn, changed planes twice and driven a hundred and fifty miles along these winding, narrow roads. She was in no shape to sound brilliant. But there was no way to avoid the coming confrontation.
Pulling up in front of the iron gate, she rolled down her window, pressed the button on the intercom and looked up toward the television camera focused on her window.
Long, nerve-racking seconds passed before a woman’s voice asked, “Yes? Who is it?”
It sounded like an older woman. Probably the housekeeper, Edith Martindale, whom Helen had described to Bree. Good. Mrs. Martindale probably wasn’t going to be as tough a gatekeeper as one of the Sterlings, the distant relatives who had moved in with Troy two months ago.
“I’m Bree Brennan,” she answered, exaggerating her native North Carolina accent so that her name came out as a thick, honeyed drawl. “I’m Dinah London’s new teacher,” she added, very glad that she’d taught first grade for the Baltimore County schools before joining the Light Street Detective Agency.
There was a hesitation on the other end of the line. “I didn’t know Mrs. Sterling hired a teacher for Dinah.”
Mrs. Sterling was Nola Sterling. She and her husband, Abner, were supposed to be down on their luck, which was why Troy had allowed them to move into Ravencrest. According to Helen, they’d taken over the place.
Bree dragged a deep breath and held it for a second before answering with a complete non sequitur. “I’ve driven all the way up here from San Francisco, and I can’t go back tonight.”
“Well…”
Bree went on quickly. “I was hired by Helen London when she learned that her niece’s previous instructor, Miss Carpenter, had been dismissed.”
“Ms. London is out of the country. How could she hire you?”
“Didn’t she send you a message?”
Again there was that slight hesitation. “No. I don’t think so.”
Probably the housekeeper was wondering if Nola Sterling had neglected to inform her of the new arrangement. That would make sense, but in fact, Bree and Helen had decided that making her arrival a surprise was the best plan. And Helen had arranged not to be available.
Following their script she said, “She interviewed me by e-mail. And she sent me an authorization by fax.” As she spoke, she pulled out the paper and held it up to the camera.
After half a minute she lowered the fax and stared into the camera again, her blue eyes wide and naive. “Whom am I speaking to?” she asked politely.
“Mrs. Martindale,” the woman confirmed.
“Is Mr. London there?”
“He’s not available at the moment.”
Through the television camera, she felt herself being scrutinized and kept her own gaze steady. Her appearance was a plus, she knew.
Around the Light Street office, she always looked businesslike. But it didn’t take much effort to transform herself into the classic subject of a dum
b blond joke. She’d combed her shoulder-length wheat-colored hair to frame her face in soft waves and carefully outlined her bow-shaped lips. And now she kept her blue eyes wide, as though she’d just walked off the farm.
“Come up to the house.” As the woman spoke, the gate creaked open.
With a sigh that was part relief and part trepidation, Bree drove through. As the barrier clanked shut behind her, she couldn’t help feeling like an inmate arriving at prison.
Hands clamped to the wheel, she steered the car up the winding drive, past pine trees dripping with green moss that fluttered in the wind blowing off the ocean.
Now that she was here, it was hard to catch her breath, and she knew she had good reason to be edgy. When Helen had first contacted her, Bree had proposed that one of the men from the Light Street Detective Agency or Randolph Security, which worked closely with them, should find out what was wrong at Ravencrest.
Her friend had argued against that plan. “The Sterlings are up to something bad. I just know it. If they think they’re being attacked or investigated, they could take Dinah hostage. Maybe they’ve already done it—to keep Troy in line. They could have him locked up somewhere. Or maybe they have him drugged. Or he might already be dead. And if they’ve killed him, what would stop them from killing his daughter?”
Helen had always had a flair for the dramatic.
“Those are pretty serious accusations,” Bree had said carefully. “You think your cousins are capable of something like that? What would their motive be?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never even met them. I don’t think Troy had, either, before they showed up.” She sighed. “Probably I sound hysterical. But I’m so frightened. Before Grace died, I never worried about Troy. But he turned so spacy.” She sighed. “If I could take care of this myself, I would.”
If the plea for help had come from anybody else, Bree wouldn’t be here now. But five years ago, when her mother had needed a kidney transplant, Helen had loaned her the money for the operation. They’d worked out a payment plan, but when Bree had sent the first check, Helen had refused to accept it. Mom had lived three more years after that. And Bree knew that Helen had given her those years. Which was why Bree had gone off to Northern California, without giving anybody at the Light Street Detective Agency a chance to point out all the flaws in her plan.
