by Mae Clair
Anger sharpened her words. “I was.”
“When did the incidents start?”
“A month ago, maybe more. Look it up, Mr. Investigator, it’s your job.” She pulled on the knob, but his hand remained firm, holding the door in place. He slumped against it, using his tall, muscled body to block her escape. Refusing to shrink away, she felt her pulse quicken.
“You’re still stubborn, Ronnie.” His voice was low and husky again, at its most dangerous. “When we were kids, you never wanted to be the damsel in distress.” He raised his free hand, tracing a single finger over the smooth contour of her cheek, sending sparks of heat dancing like caged fire under her skin. “You wanted to be a knight on the front line, fighting for Arthur’s kingdom.”
“I was better than you,” she croaked. The words barely came. Her heart thudded fast and hard against her breastbone. She despised him, loathed how quickly he could turn her resolve to mush. And yet she loved him. Still, always, forever. That was the horrid, wretched truth. If she didn’t get free of him soon, he’d have her in bed again, only to saunter away in the morning to find someone else. The memory of past humiliation and pain made her back stiffen. “Get out of my way, Caithelden. I’m not playing games.”
“Neither am I.” He dragged her forward, then covered her mouth with his. The kiss was hot and desperate, crashing over her with the furious force of pounding surf. It took her breath away and left her senses spinning. Scorching heat unraveled in her belly and she nearly surrendered.
Caith groaned, hugging her closer.
The humiliation returned, sharp and glittering with a knife-edge like glass. It exploded in her stomach, shattering his carefully spun web of seduction. How dare he do this to her again? She shoved him against the door. “You bastard.” Her hand cracked across his face.
He stared, unable to speak, his eyes heavily-lidded and glazed with an emotion she didn’t want to see—need, desperate, crippling need. Sex had always been his drug of choice. This time when she reached for the door, he didn’t stop her. Her face hot, she hurried from the room. She wasn’t certain who she was angrier with, herself or him. He’d initiated and she’d followed.
After twelve years, the pattern remained the same.
* * * *
The next morning Caith examined the area outside the kitchen window, but even in daylight found nothing to indicate anyone had been there. He did a search of the Hummingbird Suite and the fireplace, finding nothing unusual. The remaining guests arrived, settled into their rooms, and to everyone’s immense relief, three days passed without incident.
The staff, while on edge, tolerated him fairly well, answering questions when asked, grumbling only behind his back. In addition to Lew and Alma, Veronica introduced him to her guide, Ben Dunning, and a number of seasonal and part-time employees. He met the instructor who handled mental-focusing techniques for BI, a woman who drove from town each day, conducting her sessions with the same friendly intensity as a self-help guru. The guests were less intimidated and spoke freely. Bowerman even admitted to booking his stay solely in the hopes of encountering “resident ghosts.”
On Thursday morning, Caith had breakfast with three of the guests, spent an hour talking to Ben, and then made his way to the boat house. When he arrived, Lew Walden was kneeling on the floor, running his hands over one of the wooden cradles for the johnboats. Stacked upside down, four on each side of the shelter, the eight boats looked like large empty nutshells.
“I guess they don’t get much use in the fall,” Caith said, walking inside. The place smelled of wet tarps, grass clippings, and linseed oil.
Lew glanced over his shoulder. “Not like the spring and summer when the bass are plentiful. Look here.” Work-roughened hands motioned Caith forward, and he pointed to the timber cradle. “Wood-borers got to it, hollowed her out. She’ll need replacing.”
“Is there a boat ready if I want to go on the lake?”
Surprised, Lew stood. “Why’d you wanna do that? Ain’t got enough to snoop around at the lodge?”
Caith hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “Guess not.” One of the skills he’d acquired as a private investigator was slipping into the speech patterns of anyone he questioned. With Lew, it was curt sentences, blunt and to the point. “When’s the last a boat was out?”
“Don’t track that stuff. Guests come, guests go.”
“Lot are going now, aren’t they, Lew?”
The caretaker narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t exceptionally tall, just over medium height, but was stocky enough to be intimidating. Salt-and-pepper hair, worn on the long side, contrasted leathery skin and intense blue eyes. Caith guessed his age near sixty.
“Like I said, don’t track that stuff.”
The conversation went no further. Caith found a single boat docked around the side and took it onto the lake. The electric motor hummed quietly as water unfurled, blindingly blue in the bright October sun. The lodge dwindled behind, swallowed by a tree line still dressed in the gem-bright splendor of fluttering autumn leaves. Cool air scraped across his face as he steered around the bend. He beached on a familiar embankment where the wet grass smelled faintly of earth worms and tree-shaded moss.
“I’m a wizard. I was born during a meteor storm.” Thirteen-year-old Merlin spun in a circle, his arms outstretched as he tilted his head to the sky. “I can conjure magic from the lake. Make waves rise up on silver horses and crush ogres and trolls. I’m the mightiest wizard there ever was.”
Standing on the bank, Caith motioned to the lake with his wooden sword. It was hot, and the summer sun beat against the back of his neck like dragon fire. “What about the sea monster?”
“I’m a mermaid,” Veronica said indignantly, kicking a spray of water into his face.
He laughed. She looked so silly paddling around in the water, her long blond hair soaked like seaweed. “I say we stone the foul beast.” Grinning, he scooped a handful of muck from the water’s edge. “What say you, wise wizard?”
“You don’t stone mermaids, you idiot!” Veronica snapped. “They’re magical.”
With a mischievous grin, Merlin plopped to a seat on the grass. “She protests, but do not let her objections sway you. She is a dangerous one, brave knight. Take care as you attack.”
Caith weighed the mud in his hand. “Trask.” He pitched his voice to carry. “Our wizard advisor councils we take the offensive with this lake monster.”
“I told you I’m not—”
“Who am I to argue with the mighty Merlin?” Trask broke from the trees on the far side of the bank, his expression gleeful. He scooped up a handful of mud as he raced down the grass. “The beast must die!”
“Don’t you dare,” Veronica shrieked.
Then all three boys were in the water with her, and spray and mud flew everywhere.
Caith grinned, but the memory was sad and whimsical. Trask was gone, Merlin despised him, and Veronica would vivisect him given the chance. She’d been cold since the incident in his suite, avoiding him whenever possible. He didn’t know what possessed him to act the way he had. One moment he was blocking her path, fully in control, the next he’d behaved like a hormonal teenager. The sooner he resolved things at the lodge and returned to Boston, the better for both of them.
He hiked deeper between the trees. The soil was soft and muddy, carpeted with fallen leaves. A small animal had recently scavenged for food at the base of an elm, digging up clumps of earth. Random flecks of white riddled the ground and clung to patches of moss and protruding roots. Caith bent to examine the substance. Powdery in composition, it left a phosphorescent residue clinging to his fingers.
Curious, he went back to the boat and rummaged beneath the seat until he found an empty bait container. Carefully, he deposited a handful of the white-flecked soil in the receptacle, and then spent another half-hour scouring the surrounding grounds. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he returned to the lodge. He located Veronica in
her office, seated behind her desk, typing away on her computer.
“I’m busy,” she said, glancing up when he stepped into the room.
“I won’t stay long.” He smiled smoothly, but her expression didn’t soften. She wore black jeans with a gray tweed jacket and a cranberry T-shirt. Her hair was brushed back from her face, secured at the nape of her neck with a soft black ribbon. Indulging in a moment of sheer fantasy, Caith envisioned pulling the pert ribbon free and knotting his fingers in the rich cascade of honey-gold. With effort, he forced the images away. “Who saw the woman at the lake? The one with the white veil?”
Veronica looked puzzled. “Kay Porter, but that was over a week ago.”
“Do you have a number for her?”
“She’s with the Farzfold Corporation out of Wilmington.” Veronica tapped a few keys, located the number on her computer, then scribbled it on a piece of paper. Passing it to Caith, she eyed him suspiciously. “Lew said you took out a boat.”
“Does he report everything I do? I get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”
“There’s a line for that, Caithelden.” Her words were harsh, but her tone light. A sliver of amusement danced in her eyes.
Encouraged, Caith leaned forward. “So you’ve known him for five years?”
“Give or take. He used to live in Detroit, but moved here to be closer to his daughter who lives in Pittsburgh.”
“Why not move to Pittsburgh?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t like big cities.” Her expression was a cross between suspicion and thoughtfulness. She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth.
Caith grew warm. “What about your guide, Ben Dunning? He seemed a little over-eager when I talked to him.”
“You’re not exactly the most welcome person here, Caith. The staff thinks you’re evaluating their job performances and the success of the program as a whole. For all they know, you could advise Stone Willow be scrapped.”
He couldn’t pinpoint when he stopped listening, focused instead on the becoming tint of rose-gold on her cheeks. She was more bewitching than all the muse-daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne combined. He laid his hand over hers where it rested on the desk.
She swallowed, a sure sign he’d unnerved her, but kept her hand where it was. “Ben’s from a small town northwest of Coldcreek. He’s worked here about two years. He and Lisa Cole, the BI instructor, have been dating off and on for the last few months.”
“Like you and Merlin?” He regretted the stinging observation the moment the words left his mouth. Stupid mistake.
Veronica snatched her hand away. “You’re out of line. My relationship with your brother is none of your business.”
It was too late to back out. “Merlin, for crying out loud? You don’t even look right together.”
“How would you know? You spent one night with me. One night, Caith!” Her voice cracked with anger. “Then you flew off to college and dumped me for the first girl you could tumble into bed.”
“Veronica.”
“You didn’t even have the guts to call. You sent me a letter. A letter, you son-of-a-bitch, too much of a coward to admit you were only in it for a good screw. I should have known better. You were always about sex and getting anyone you could into bed.”
He hadn’t wanted to do this. Not here, not now. Frazzled, he rubbed his temple.
Veronica stood, her anger bristling between them. “I met somebody,” she spat, mimicking the words he’d used in the letter. “What we did was a mistake.” Despite the venom, her eyes glittered with tears. “I hated you, Caith. Really hated you. You made love to me. Made me feel like I was the most precious thing in your life. And then you went off and had a child with another woman.”
Her pain cut like a knife, but he wouldn’t let her malign the single bright spot in his world. “Derrick came later.”
“Was he a mistake, too?”
His face hardened into a stone mask. “Derrick’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Veronica stood her ground. “Maybe I feel the same way about your brother.”
The words were a blow to his gut. “You’re lying. If you love Merlin so damn much, why is he never here? Why are you always fighting with him?”
Her eyes flashed emerald fire. “Who told you that?”
“Who didn’t? He’s not who you want, Ron. We both know that. I see it in your eyes every time I get near you.”
“Your ego’s bigger than your stupidity. Get out of my way, Caith.”
She started past him but he caught her by the wrist and pinned her to the wall. He didn’t know what he was doing, just that he needed to make her understand the conflicting snarl of emotion in his gut. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone, yet knew it would be a mistake. Another damn mistake. He’d had his chance twelve years ago and walked away when he should have stayed.
“That night—” The words struck in his throat. “What happened between us…I’ve never stopped wanting you.”
“You expect me to believe that?” Her eyes were hard, brittle as glass. “You really take the prize, Caith, coming back after all this time with a story like that. You must think I’m an idiot.”
Undaunted, he stroked her cheek. “Ronnie, you want me, too.”
She slammed her palms against his chest, shoving backward. “Bullshit! I’ve already made one mistake with you, Caith. I’m not going to make another.” Her voice was ice, frigid as arctic air.
He sucked down a breath, keeping his head lowered. “You’re right.”
Of course she was. He was scum. Dirt. Disgusting ilk of the lowest level. He’d done something unforgivable. He had no business thinking he could brush it off with a few choice words and the utterings of his heart. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Ronnie. I thought you should know I’ve missed you.”
“And you should know I couldn’t care less.”
She shoved past him, stalking from the room, her anger like a storm cloud. It was a verbal slap in the face, not that he deserved any less. He yearned for the time when life was simpler, when feelings of love and lust had never come between them.
* * * *
Veronica stormed into the lobby, barely conscious of where she was headed. It didn’t matter so long as she got away from Caith. Having him near brought a crush of memories and emotions tumbling back that left her shaken and weak, teetering on a precipice of uncertainty. She’d always loved him, even when he’d been wrapped up in Kelly Rice, so damn infatuated he couldn’t see straight. She could still recall the slight she’d felt when he’d taken Kelly to their high school dance instead of her.
“You didn’t go to the dance,” Caith said as they walked one evening on the hilly roads surrounding Coldcreek. It was late spring in Caith and Merlin’s senior year, the time when Merlin began to drift away, Caith was increasingly at odds with his father, and everything started to unravel. “I wanted you to know I was thinking about you, so I brought you something.” He pulled his arm from behind his back, offering a single flower. A long-stemmed yellow rose. “This is for you.”
She smiled, secretly pleased. “Thank you.” Accepting the rose, she pushed on tip-toes, lightly brushing a kiss on his cheek. “You didn’t have to. It was just a dance.”
But it had been much more, and she’d wanted to attend with him. Even if it had been as friends, she’d wanted that memory of him by her side.
They started walking again. Veronica pressed the velvety petals against her lips, allowing the floral scent to engulf her. She hadn’t wanted to see him with Kelly Rice. The prom queen was everything she wasn’t, curvy and vivacious with curling black hair and smoky amber eyes. She slanted a casual glance at him. “Did you have a good time?”
“Nah.” Caith grinned. “How could I, when you weren’t there?” He slung an arm over her shoulders, tugging her close to his side as they walked. “We always have at least one dance together, Ron. We’ve done that ever since we were ki
ds, and you dragged me, Merlin, and Trask to that god-awful harvest-thing in junior high.”
She chuckled. “You were the only one who danced with me.”
“Only because Trask and Merlin bet I wouldn’t. I won four bucks that night, two from each of them.”
“You danced with me for a bet?”
He kissed the top of her head. “Cut me a break. I was thirteen years old. Four bucks was four bucks. You think I would have danced with a girl for free?”
She pushed away from him. “That’s whorish, Caith.”
“Nah, men are gigolos, remember? Besides…” He flashed that grin again. The one she loved best, the one that reached his eyes. “You weren’t the one paying me.”
The magnificent smile faded as quickly as it came. He stared past her, abruptly ill-at-ease, looking over her shoulder. She didn’t have to turn to know what lay behind her. Suddenly, the dance was no longer important. All that mattered was helping him ease the pain that plainly still twisted his heart. “Do you…do you want to visit the cemetery?”
“No!” Revolted, he wrenched away. Without waiting, he pivoted and sprinted down the hillside.
“Caith, wait!” She chased after him, her heart pounding. As long-legged as she was, she had a hard time matching his stride. “I’m sorry.” She snagged his arm, dragging him to a halt. “It was a stupid suggestion. I just thought… You’ll be leaving for college soon. It might be the last time you have a chance to—”
“Veronica, don’t.” He shook off her hand. “Some things are better left the way they are.”
He’d never visited the cemetery. Not once after Trask died, not in all the years she’d known him. Morgana Breckwood had called her and Merlin together and told them the doctors thought it would help if Caith visited his friend’s grave. That it would bring closure and healing. She’d wanted their help in convincing Caith it was best. Merlin had nodded and said he’d try, but he never did. Her own efforts failed, only succeeding in angering Caith whenever she mentioned it.
