by Mae Clair
“What the hell happened back there?” His eyes were turbulent and biting. “Was that some kind of sick game you two play about who gets who in bed?”
The hostile sting of his words brought an unexpected surge of rage. “You are such an arrogant S-O-B. I just saved BI, you, and your son from becoming tomorrow’s headline. She would have printed every smutty half-truth she could find after the threats you made.”
“You don’t know anyone at the Central Tribune, do you?”
“What if I don’t? It’s a better bluff then you pulled.” Falling back into the seat, Veronica tugged her coat closer. “I’m cold and I’m wet. I want to go home. Get out of my car, Caith.”
“Not until you tell me what that kiss was about.”
Veronica sighed. She scraped a hand through her hair. It was wet and clung to the side of her face, chilling her to the bone. She wanted him to go away, to leave her alone so she didn’t have to remember the heat of his lips on hers, the hard, muscled lines of his body making her yearn for closer contact.
His coat was wet and smelled of rain. He smelled of rain, every wonderful inch of him exuding the same raw power as the storm. Beads of moisture clung to his face and hair, and for one irrational moment, she wanted nothing more than to brush them aside.
“Veronica.”
She faltered as the images scampered beyond her reach. Snatching her keys from his hand, she found the one for the ignition and jabbed it home.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what that kiss was about.”
Her patience was gone. “It wasn’t about anything. It was just my turn to use you.”
As soon as she said the words, she knew she’d hurt him. Rather than making him angry or defensive, she’d struck where he was vulnerable. Determined to keep her distance, she slanted a look in his direction. His expression never changed, but the damage was there, buried in his eyes.
“Good job.” Caith popped the door and stepped into the rain.
Chapter 9
Veronica returned early to the lodge, stripped off her wet clothes, and rummaged up a dry sweater and pair of jeans. Wanting to forget the morning and everything that transpired, she locked herself in her office, concentrating on paperwork. It was nearly noon when she began to regret her behavior and fret over Caith’s absence. His Explorer had been parked out front for hours, but there was no sign of him. Distracted, she wandered into the lobby, then continued to the back porch where a mental focusing session was taking place.
Enclosed by walls of glass, the porch was inviting even when rainy and overcast. Her guests generally preferred it during the day, avoiding it after sunset when the night sky shuttered it with darkness. She lingered a few moments, listening to the instructor while watching the class. Dean Bowerman was absent, searching for ghosts no doubt, but the remaining guests were intent on the session. With any luck, they’d carry the benefits back to their jobs, producing the results the program was structured to achieve. Caith was nowhere to be seen.
Deciding it was just as well she hadn’t run into him, Veronica headed back to the lobby. She encountered Lew coming from the basement as she rounded the corner. He plunked a tool box on the reception counter, pausing to mop a handkerchief over his brow.
“Breaker keeps blowin’, but I think I got it fixed now,” he offered as way of greeting.
“Good.” Veronica hated the doubts Caith had put in her head about Lew. He’d always been a reliable worker and didn’t deserve her wariness. “Maybe Alma will be brave enough to go downstairs now.”
Lew chuckled, arranging pliers and electric gauges in his tool box. His casual reaction helped ease her tension. Outside, the rain lessened, lightly pattering against the windows.
“Lew.” She hesitated, uncertain how to proceed. “Have you seen Conner Lairen this morning?”
“Huh?” With a grunt, he looked over his shoulder. “You mean Caith Breckwood?”
She frowned. “Caith Lairen,” she corrected, deciding not to deny the obvious. “Have you seen him?”
“Hard to miss. He’s been skulkin’ around the basement all mornin’. Can’t rightly tolerate snoops under foot.”
“He’s doing his job.” Veronica wasn’t certain if she was defending him or BI. “There was another problem last night. A woman sobbing on the third floor. Like before.”
When Lew didn’t answer, but continued to arrange items in his tool box, Veronica leaned forward. “Don’t these occurrences bother you? Especially with everything that’s happened lately?”
“That’s just it.” He faced her squarely. “I’m done tryin’ to reason it. Let it happen. It’s BI’s problem.”
Most of her staff had been edgy since Caith’s arrival, but Lew in particular had grown surly. She wasn’t certain if his resentment came from having an “intruder” at the lodge, or from BI’s attempts to conceal Caith’s profession and identity. Deciding to let the matter drop, she returned to her office where she passed the time compiling figures for her weekend report to Aren. When two o’clock neared, she gathered her purse and headed out front. Caith’s Explorer remained parked in its usual spot, but there was still no sign of him.
Anxious over the looming meeting, she climbed into her car. Did she really care if Stuart fired Caith? Her entire world had been turned upside down since his arrival. She’d been a fool to tell Aren they could work together.
Caith had made it all too clear he wanted more than a working relationship, and she simply wasn’t willing to reciprocate.
* * * *
Caith tugged at his tie. He didn’t know why he’d bothered with it. The black jeans and button shirt were his usual style, the tie was something he reserved for clients.
He swore softly as the irony struck him. BI was a client which meant he had to act the role of a professional investigator without the bitterness of an estranged son. When accepting the case, he thought he’d be reporting to Galen and Aren. His father’s return had changed that.
He’ll probably fire my ass.
It was just as well. Then he could go back to Boston and the uneventful life he’d led before Aren and Galen arrived on his doorstep. He could forget about family and Veronica, and what she did to him.
Pushing the thoughts aside, he steered his Explorer through town, heading to the north end where Breckwood Industries was headquartered. There were plenty of other businesses on the same street, but BI’s sprawling multi-tiered office building dominated the area. The manufacturing plant was several miles outside of town, set among open fields. Here, smoked glass and steel complemented manicured shrubs, leafy trees, and lighted cement walkways.
Caith pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine. A sea of chrome engulfed him, row after row of countless automobiles. He’d forgotten how large the complex was, how many people BI employed, most driving from neighboring towns where employment was minimal. He spotted Veronica’s Volvo and Aren’s Lexus parked in reserved spots near the front.
Stepping from the Explorer, he shrugged into his long black coat. Coupled with the tailored white shirt and black tie, he presented a passable image for a business meeting. His jeans might be faded, but they were clean and fit well. Stuart would probably sneer over his lack of a suit, but Caith didn’t give a shit. Not really.
Steeling himself for the confrontation, he headed for the main entrance. As he stepped beneath the shadow of the overhang, bits of memory returned. He’d come often as a child, taking the elevator to the top floor, racing down the hall to his father’s office, eager to share some bit of news about school or play. As he’d gotten older, they’d talked more about the future and Caith’s place in the business.
And all the while Caith had kept silent, afraid to tell his father the truth—that he didn’t want to be part of BI. That he wanted to make the world a safe place to live, so that what happened to Trask wouldn’t happen to anyone else. If he’d been honest from the start, maybe things would have worked out differently. Maybe th
ere wouldn’t be a black gulf of bitterness between him and the man who’d raised him.
The memories washed away as he stepped into the reception area. It was large and open, updated with mocha-colored ceramic tile and a marble reception counter veined with burgundy threads. Potted plants and half-moon seating in shades of burgundy and cream complemented soaring glass windows and an atrium ceiling. Bypassing the receptionist, Caith headed down a short hallway to a set of elevators. A black roster mounted on the wall listed each office in gold leaf. With a glance to confirm Stuart was still on the top floor, he pressed the up-arrow.
His father’s executive assistant eyed him critically, but there was no mistaking his resemblance to Stuart or his unusual name. After a brief pause, she led him to a conference room where Merlin, Aren, Galen, and Veronica already waited.
“So. You decided to come after all.” Slouching with his shoulder against the wall, Merlin straightened when Caith entered the room. “I was sure you’d pull a disappearing act rather than face Dad.”
Ignoring him, Caith shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the back of the nearest chair. Galen, Aren, and Veronica were already seated at a rectangular conference table. Aren fidgeted nervously, drumming his fingers against the top while Veronica pretended interest in the floor and Galen merely scowled. The tension in the room surged with undercurrents, ready to erupt at the slightest provocation.
Caith pulled out a chair and sat down. When the silence continued, swelling noticeably, he looked between the three. “Is it my tie?”
Aren relaxed with a mild chuckle. “I’m glad someone still has a sense of humor.” He slid a manila folder across the table. “Here are the results of that soil sample you wanted.”
“You’re quick.” Caith studied it briefly. “Pretty much as I figured. Maybe I’ll get a chance to discuss it before Dad cans my ass.”
Merlin strolled to the table. “What makes you think you’re getting fired?”
“Don’t be coy, Merlin. You’ve been counting down the hours.”
“Minutes.” With a thin smile, Merlin leaned forward and flicked a finger beneath Caith’s tie. “At least you came dressed for your funeral.”
“Back off.” The command came from Galen. Startled by the hostility in his voice, Caith swiveled toward him in surprise.
Merlin let out a choked snort and slumped into the nearest chair. “What’s this? Sir Galen of the Square Table ready to right all wrongs?”
“I’m not kidding.” Galen’s expression was dark. “Whatever’s been eating at you two for the last twelve years gets shelved until this conference is over. It’s awkward enough without having you sniping at each other.”
“Damn.” Merlin released a patronizing sigh. “And I was so looking forward to the fun.”
“Merlin,” Veronica warned.
“Don’t worry, hon.” He caught her hand, bringing it to his lips for a showy kiss. “Nothing that happens will spoil our plans for the evening.” His gaze slid across the table to Caith. “Business has no place at a romantic dinner for two.”
Veronica snatched her hand free.
Caith barely had time to register the insinuation before the door swept open and his father strode into the room.
A man who knew how to command attention, Stuart Breckwood let his gaze settle on each of them before coming to rest on Caith. “I want this out of the way as quickly as possible.” Curtly, he settled into a chair at the head of the table. “I go away for a few weeks and Stone Willow sprouts headlines in the gossip column. Anyone know why Ms. Rice has made it her personal goal in life to slander BI?”
Intent blue eyes swept the group, but no reply was forthcoming. “I see. Anyone want to guess why this woman is becoming a colossal pain in my ass?”
“It’s just a two-bit tabloid,” Merlin ventured with a disinterested shrug. “Let her spew her poison. What harm can it do?”
“What harm?” Stuart glowered at Merlin. “Coldcreek is about small town ideas and small town ways. If the people here believe what Ms. Rice prints about Stone Willow, they’ll believe anything she prints about BI.” He tossed a copy of the Herald on the table. “This garbage is already filtering through our corporate offices and into neighboring firms. Thank God, she hasn’t taken it online yet.”
“Skilled executives don’t worry about seeing blue and white lights dancing in the trees,” Galen said sharply.
“No. But they do about butchered dogs on their beds, and meals that give them food poisoning. Stone Willow has never been exceptionally profitable. We know that. The question is, should it continue?”
Looking alarmed, Veronica sat forward. “You’re not thinking of closing the lodge?”
“We should be addressing this with the board,” Aren commented on her heels.
Caith’s father dismissed the notion with a backward wave of his hand. “The board comes later. This is about Breckwood interests and Breckwood money. Most of what’s invested in the lodge belongs to us as a family, not a firm. Should we close it?” His glance shifted to Veronica, and he paused. “It’s always been a pet project, so I’d like to keep it running. I can’t do that without concrete answers. I’m not going to have BI’s name attached to something that’s becoming a joke and-or liability. Caith?”
Expecting to be dismissed rather than included, it took Caith a moment to respond. He cleared his throat. “I can’t give you anything concrete, but I can tell you someone is staging an elaborate hoax. I know how they’re doing it. I just can’t tell you who.”
Merlin crossed his arms. “A hoax? There’s a newsflash.”
Galen shot him a warning look before turning and addressing his question to Caith. “How’s it being done?”
“I don’t want to say until I have all the answers. Assuming I’m still on the case.” Caith looked directly at his father, putting him on the line. Now was the time to drop the axe if it was going to fall. When Stuart gave a marginal nod, he continued. “The person or persons doing this are gaining access through the basement. After last night—”
“What happened last night?” Aren interrupted.
“Sobbing,” Veronica explained. “The same as before. A woman on the third floor.”
“Who conveniently disappeared outside the Hummingbird Suite. I remember when we were kids there were rumors about the house being filled with secret passages.” It irked Caith he couldn’t spend more time in the Hummingbird Suite. Once Bowerman left he’d be able to do an exhaustive search. Or maybe he’d have to convince Veronica to move their resident ghost hunter to another room.
“That’s right.” Aren snapped his fingers. “According to legend, Warren Barrister had passages built into almost every room because he was so paranoid. Wasn’t he involved in some kind of secret society or cult? Tolmar…Tolar, something like that?”
“But the Barrister house was remodeled,” Veronica protested. “Only portions of the original structure are intact.”
“And part of that includes the basement.” Caith leaned forward. “I did some scouting this morning and found a passage that leads from the mechanical room to the Hummingbird Suite. A convenient way to drop off a dead dog if you don’t want anyone to see you. And a quick way to disappear if you’re a woman pretending to be a ghost. Or someone projecting a holographic image.”
“Holographic?” Galen frowned. “Are you saying—”
“I’m not sure what I’m saying. I’m looking at facts. Kay Porter reported what she thought was a ghost at the lake. A few days ago I found traces of phosphorescent body paint in the same area. The lab results confirm it.” He tapped the folder Aren had given him. “I’ve read the reports from Duke Cameron’s forensic team on the hand Veronica saw in the fireplace, and there’s no trace of evidence. Even if an appendage were removed, there would have to be something left behind. A residual trace of skin or charring. If it were something other than a hand, like a fabricated composite, there’d be indications of chemical or material re
sidue.”
“I didn’t imagine it,” Veronica said tightly. “I saw it clear as day.”
“All tricks easily accomplished by someone familiar with effects technology.”
Galen frowned. “You mean like movie-making FX?”
Things were going deeper than he wanted at the moment. “That’s one application. Government agencies have been using effects technology to induce everything from mild hypnosis to supervised mind control for years. I’m not saying that’s the case here, just that it’s a possibility. I checked around town earlier and couldn’t find any place that sells body paint, but it’s not hard to obtain. You can buy it online, and with Halloween around the corner, even costume shops carry it.”
Aren frowned. “I got a shipment from a place in Cleveland a few months ago through an online order. Mom gave me the name. Melanie and I wanted it for the hayride. We’re planning on having greeters in costume.”
“Any missing?”
Aren shrugged. “I don’t check it regularly. It’s stored in the barn.”
“That still doesn’t explain why any of this is going on.” Galen shook his head. “Assuming someone is using an elaborate means of pulling these stunts, why are they doing it? What do they gain?”
Silence fell over the group. Caith felt his father’s gaze shift to him. “Caith?”
“I don’t have an answer.”
“Then get one. And get Kelly Rice off my back while you’re at it.” Finished, Stuart stood. He was halfway to the door when he hesitated and glanced over his shoulder. “By the way, I’m to convey a message from your mother. You’re all expected for Sunday dinner. One o’clock. That includes you, too, Veronica.” Before anyone could protest differently, he left.
Releasing a pent-up breath, Aren slumped in his chair and grinned. “You see that?” he said to Caith. “You got a stay of execution.”
He snorted. “Only because he wants to see Derrick. The longer I’m in town, the more time he gets to spend with his grandson.”
