Rose from the Grave

by Candace Murrow

  "Is anything wrong?"

  "Sue Ann, one of Bertie's employees, called and said she had something to tell me, but she didn't want to talk over the phone. She sounded frantic. I couldn't hear her very well over all the noise. Will you be all right here alone?"

  "Of course, but what do you think she wants? I didn't realize you knew her that well."

  "I don't, but she sounded absolutely panicked. I can't very well leave her like that. I'll just run over and see what the problem is. Maybe Bertie's in trouble."

  "I suppose."

  "Rusty's usually in his cabin at night, if you have any problems. I'll lock the door on my way out, and I'll put Zeke in the garage so he won't whine at your door. He'll bark if there's a problem."

  "You've thought of everything. Now, please go. I'll be fine."

  CHAPTER 28

  Kat couldn't believe Chance had handed over his novel so easily. It was a symbol of his goodwill, his trust, and to him a symbol of their budding relationship. According to him, after reading the novel, she would either reject or accept him. Either way, she'd have to take a stand. The novel carried great weight.

  She snuggled under the very comfy, peach-scented covers and held the manuscript, wondering if she should proceed. If she set it aside, she wouldn't have to get any closer to Chance than she already was. After reading the details of his life, she'd know him in a more intimate way. Was she ready for that?

  The room was beginning to darken along with the evening sky. She switched on the bedside lamp, took a deep breath, and turned to page one.

  The first chapter told of a young man recently married, who'd graduated from Harvard with an MBA, proficient in Russian and Spanish. While he worked at his first job in a Fortune 500 company, he was tapped by a consulting firm that specialized in government contracts.

  So far the man's life seemed normal, nothing that would beg shock or horror. So far so good.

  She paused to rest her eyes and felt herself drifting near sleep until the phone rang and prodded her awake. Thinking it was Chance, she padded across the hall and felt for the phone on his desk. No one was on the line. She heard a click.

  Refusing to give in to her fears, she started back to her room when the phone rang again. It had to be Chance. She groped for the receiver and put it to her ear. A blast of hushed breaths threw her off base. "Chance, is that you?"

  She thought someone whispered her name, but the voice was so soft she couldn't be sure, then whoever was on the line hung up. It took her two tries to set the receiver in place. Had the crank calls begun again? But why here?

  While stumbling in the dark for the light switch, she heard, or thought she heard, a thump on the window pane. She spun around and rammed her hip into the corner of the desk. Rubbing the sore spot with one hand, she lifted the blinds and peered out. The night masked whatever truth lay out there—no person, no movement, only starlight and a whisper of a silhouette in the distance. The blinds slid into place. Her imagination was at it again.

  She edged from the room and flipped on the hall light. The phone rang again. She refused to answer it. She stood in the hall and let the phone ring itself out.

  Zeke remained quiet, a good sign that no prowler was near the house. Nevertheless, she checked the doors to make sure they were locked.

  Zeke pawed at the garage door, aware of her movements. She was tempted to let him in for company, if nothing else, but she wouldn't know how to handle him if he became overly playful or, heaven forbid, wanted to sleep on the bed.

  Where was Chance? She placed a call to Bertie's and found out he'd already left. It was nearing half past eight.

  She left the hall light on and her door ajar and climbed into bed to await his return. She wouldn't sleep now. The house was still. Even Zeke had quieted down. A barn owl hooted close by. Keeping a cautious ear out, she picked up the novel and launched into the next chapter.

  The firm that had zeroed in on the main character in Chance's story was unfamiliar to Kat, but Chance could have changed the name. The men who worked there had connections to the various intelligence and security agencies. Lured by promises of women, power, and money, the main character opted in as one of its financial specialists.

  Sharp, loud barks erupted from the garage. A car door closed. A rapid knocking sent her dashing from the bed, positive Chance had forgotten his house key. On her way through the living room, she snatched the throw blanket from the couch.

  She yanked the door open and was surprised to see the sheriff in civilian clothes--jeans and a leather jacket--standing under the porch light. His gaze lit on her bare feet, then continued upward to her tousled hair. Instinctively, she tightened the blanket around her.

  "Is Eliason home?"

  "He'll be back any minute. What's this about? It's late."

  "I had business elsewhere. I couldn't get here before now." He brushed his hands together for warmth. "Do you mind if I come in and wait?"

  She looked past him, hoping Chance would drive up to save her from an awkward situation. "He'll be back soon enough."

  "I'll say this to you out here then. Might as well get it off my chest." He paused to gather his thoughts. "Since you came here, there've been an awful lot of accusations tossed around."

  His set jaw and piercing eyes told her he might be working up to some anger, so she closed the door a little, narrowing the gap between them.

  Zeke's barking hit a feverish pitch as Chance's truck barreled down the drive and swung in next to the sheriff's cruiser. While walking to the porch, he shouted at Zeke to quiet down, and Zeke's bark mellowed to a whine. "What do you want, Holmes?"

  "To talk to you."

  "Couldn't this wait till morning, or is it some kind of an emergency?"

  "I couldn't get to it sooner." He cast Kat a stern glance and said to Chance, "I want to talk to you alone."

  Kat didn't need to be told to bow out, but she stayed behind the closed door within listening range.

  The sheriff said to Chance, "Got a call from Nate Wheeler's attorney, and it seems Wheeler wants to file a complaint against you for harassment."

  Kat couldn't see Sheriff Holmes, but she bet he had a big smirk on his face.

  Chance replied, "That's a crock, and you know it. You can tell Wheeler he's got no grounds. Christ, the man has no spine at all, has to hire a lawyer to do his dirty work. He can tell me to my face."

  There was a pause, then the sheriff said, "Look, Eliason, I smoothed it over this time, but no more. I'd advise you to stay away from him."

  "You could have saved yourself a trip, Sheriff." The doorknob turned, and Kat stepped away to let Chance in. A frown clouded his face. "You heard that, didn't you?"

  She nodded.

  He wrestled with Zeke to get him outside and within minutes brought him back in, a firm grip on his collar.

  "I'm okay with him in here," Kat said.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Let him go and we'll get this over with."

  Released, Zeke made a beeline to Kat. He slapped his tail against her legs while she closed her eyes and patted his head. After charging back to Chance for an approval pat, he went into the kitchen to lap up water.

  "That wasn't so bad," she said.

  "He's getting to know you."

  Zeke wandered into the living room and collapsed in the corner on his large, round doggy pad.

  "What happened with Sue Ann?"

  "Absolutely nothing." He tossed his hat on the table and ran his fingers through his hair.

  "What do you mean nothing?"

  "She wasn't there, never showed up. I waited around, had a cup of coffee. According to Bertie's help, she'd been there earlier. He said she made a phone call and left."

  "That's odd."

  He went to the kitchen sink, picked up a glass. "It doesn't make any sense."

  Maybe it did. "There were calls tonight."

  "Who from?"

  "He hung up the first time. The second time he might have said my name. It rang sever
al more times, but I let it ring. It reminded me of before. Then I thought I heard something outside the window, but it was nothing."

  "Why didn't you tell me this when I came in?"

  She shuddered a response, and within seconds he had his arm around her. "Kat, I'm so sorry I wasn't . . ." His voice trailed off, and he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, shaking his head. "Oh, boy."

  "Chance, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

  "What better way to frighten you, by getting me out of the house first."

  "But why Sue Ann? Surely she's not involved."

  He took Kat's hand and led her to her room. "You go on to bed and get some sleep." He kissed her forehead. "If the phone rings, let me answer it. We'll talk about this in the morning, unless you'd like to join me, for protection purposes of course." With a sly grin, he extended an arm in the direction of his room.

  Smiling, she waved goodnight and left him behind a closed door. Back in bed under the warm covers, she tossed and turned but couldn't sleep. Picking up the novel where she'd left off, she read about the life of a financial specialist working for a mystery company.

  His novel had all the intrigue of a James Bond movie, but the results of the main character's actions were much less noble. Corporations hired men like Chance to seek out leaders, politicians, and heads of state to offer them money in return for making sure the contracts for weaponry and other services were directed the corporation's way. And if they refused, in the case of politicians, money directed to their campaigns would be withdrawn. Bribery and blackmail all in one package. The money offered carried the name "black cash."

  Fascinated, Kat read into the wee hours of the morning until she finished the book. Because of a family member's illness, the hero of the story thought deeply about his actions and left the firm. In the end he was running like a fugitive from people who wanted to destroy him.

  Kat set the papers aside to digest the implications of such a life. She couldn't imagine the man she knew having once been a part of such an outfit. Or could she?

  It was three o'clock in the morning when, weary-eyed, Kat turned out the light. Upon entering the dream world, she found herself running from some unknown force, her breath ragged, her sides hitching in pain. She stopped to catch her breath and was catapulted into a room filled with lights. Various objects—pencils, pillows, plates, and candles—were flying around her. Across the room a woman in faded jeans and a sweater, her hair dark and spiky, had her back to Kat. Kat dodged the objects to get to the woman, who turned around and held her hand out to Kat.

  "Brianna." Kat sat up in bed and covered her mouth with a clammy palm, hoping Chance hadn't heard her cry out, hadn't heard her say Brianna's name.

  Trembling, she touched the cheek brushed by Brianna's hand. That part of the dream felt real. Kat started shaking. She rummaged in her purse for a Valium and hurried into the bathroom across the hall. When was this going to stop?

  As she reached for a paper cup, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Chance stood in the doorway staring at her, for how long she didn't know. He was clad in pajama bottoms with his lightly-tufted chest exposed and his hair mussed from sleep.

  "I'm sorry if I woke you."

  "I was in my bathroom when I heard you scream." He eyed the hand holding the pill. "Do you really need that?"

  "It relaxes me."

  He took the pill from her and tossed it in the garbage. He held her close and whispered into her hair, "Come with me, Kat." Without arguing, she allowed him to take her into his room and tuck her into his bed. "I just want to hold you until you fall asleep," he said as he slid in next to her. "Nothing else."

  She molded her body to his, and his warmth was all she needed to melt into relaxation. She missed this part of being with a man. He stroked her hair, which further relaxed her.

  "I saw Brianna in a dream," she said. "I felt her touch my cheek. I really did. I've seen her, Chance. I see and hear things. I've always had this bizarre ability, but I've tried to suppress it, and I've been able to until now, until Brianna's death. She wants me to know something. I feel it. I just don't know what it is."

  "Shh . . . Don't worry over it now," he murmured, as if what she'd said was nothing out of the ordinary. "Just relax and try to sleep."

  "Don't you understand what I'm telling you? I'm one of those crazy people. I hear voices. I see dead people."

  "I don't doubt what you're saying at all, and there's nothing about you that could scare me away."

  "But, Chance . . ."

  "Shh . . ." He kept stroking her hair, feathery touches that sent tiny chills up her spine.

  She should have drifted to sleep, but all she could think of was how much she wanted him to kiss her and use his tender touch to awaken her body, to awaken the passion she hadn't felt in a long, long time. She rolled over to face him. "I want you to make love to me."

  He held her secure in his arms. "There's nothing in the world I would love more than that, but you're weary, darling. You need rest."

  "I know what I need, and I need you."

  "I don't want to take advantage of you."

  "You won't be." She nuzzled his neck, nipped at his earlobe. "I'm the one doing the asking. Please . . ." Seconds turned into minutes. In the darkened room she couldn't see his face, but she felt his heartbeat racing to keep up with hers.

  "Are you sure?" He breathed the words into her ear.

  She took his hand and rested it below her belly. Her hands slithered down his chest, and she caressed him until he let out a rapid succession of breaths. He brought his lips to hers.

  After the first kiss, which deepened into want, every move he made assured her of his choice to be gentle with her, careful, thoughtful, even though his muscles were hard and tense, proving the enormity of his need. He held back, giving her more of his feathery touches and tender whisperings, and kisses all over her body.

  "You're driving me insane. You know that, don't you?"

  "Darling, I only want to drive you into my arms."

  She ran her fingers through his hair as she'd dreamed of doing. The texture was indeed luxuriously sexy. She lost herself in the feel of it until his next stroke took her breath away. If he lingered any longer, she wouldn't be able to put on the brakes.

  He seemed to sense the urgency, because in one swift move his arms were around her, and he was gently yet insistently pleasing her. She begged him to stop, begged him to hurry, begged him to stop until she finally let go, and her body peaked and quivered in response to his.

  Afterward, he kept her closely cocooned and murmured loving assurances that he would never leave her. A flash of intuition told her that truly he was the man she'd been waiting for her entire life. But she wouldn't reveal those thoughts to him. They were too new, too raw.

  Limp from exhaustion, she kissed him goodnight and dozed into a dreamless sleep. An hour later she woke. He slept nearby, his arm butting against hers. She lay still for a while, counting his deep, rhythmic breaths.

  Sleep eluded her, and near panic set in. She pressed her hand to her chest and forced her breathing to remain steady to keep from hyperventilating, to keep from waking him. In one moment of unrestrained bliss, she'd let herself buy into the dream of a loving, committed relationship. Thank goodness she'd kept her deepest feelings to herself, kept them from Chance. This way, getting out of this situation would be easier.

  She inched from the bed, looked back at him to make sure she hadn't woken him, then tiptoed out of the room. Leaving him like this was difficult but, she told herself, necessary. By doing so, she could leave Rosswood with her fragile heart intact.

  CHAPTER 29

  Without disturbing Zeke, Kat set her suitcase by the front door and circled back to the living room for the box with the laptop and stories. Zeke looked at her expectantly, but Kat whispered the stay command. The only body part Zeke moved was his tail, thumping the doggy bed.

  Rather than rummage through a kitchen drawer for a notepad, she wrote on the back of her busi
ness card: I'm sorry. I need time to think.

  She snuck one last glance at Zeke before quietly transferring her belongings to the porch. A light breeze fanned manure odors from the barn's direction. The sky was a hazy early-morning blue. The sun was yet to rise over the hilltop, but it was late enough for the café to be open.

  She drove past Tilly's house, now dark inside, and thought of Tiger and imagined that silly kitten curled up with the girl. The church parking lot was vacant, except for one vehicle, Pastor Fletcher's Jeep. She pictured him hunched over his desk, preparing for Sunday services.

  Compared to the house she'd left behind, Brianna's house was sober and uninviting, and chilly and musty from being locked up. She hauled in her belongings and switched on the space heater.

  She tore off a note that had been taped to the door. It read: I stopped by last night to deliver a letter, but you weren't home. Sorry I missed you, Lenny.

  She sighed. Either the man didn't listen, or he was as dense as a bag of marbles. She tossed the note in the trash.

  Her cell phone hadn't been on in days. When she did switch it on, she prayed it wouldn't ring before she had a chance to connect with Maggie.

  Maggie's voice came on the line. "What?"

  "That's a nice hello."

  "Oh, sorry, dear. Let me get to my coffee." After a moment she said, "How the hell are you? It's like you've been on an island with no phone service. I worry when I can't get you. I sent you something."

  "That explains the note left by the postman. Was it important?"

  "It's just a thank-you note from one of your clients. I thought it might cheer you up."

  "That was thoughtful," Kat said. "I'm sorry I'm calling so early."

  "You know I'm always up with the birds. Have you finished there yet?"

  "I can finish some of it today, but the heavy cleaning and painting I might have to hire done. I can't stay here."

  "What do you mean, in Brianna's house or in Rosswood?"

  "Both."

  "What's bothering you, Kat? Is it those strange calls or those nightmares?"