by Dawn Brown
“What are you doing to me?” He cupped her cheek with one hand, traced the edge of her bottom lip with his thumb.
“I could ask you the same thing,” she whispered.
He eased back, a faint smile pulling at his mouth that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s getting late. I should go.”
She nodded, a chill creeping through her. Whether it was from the absence of his body heat or his unreadable expression, she didn’t know. “I’ll walk you out.”
She led him to the foyer and stopped before the door. A war waged inside of her. Part of her wanted him gone as far from her as possible, while another part of her wanted to drag Kyle against her and finish what they’d started.
He reached out and brushed her hair back from her face, fingertips leaving thin trails of heat on her skin. Her belly tightened.
“I’d like to see you again tomorrow,” he said. “I have some things to do in the morning, but maybe I could make you dinner tomorrow night.”
A thrill shot through her, but she squashed the sensation before it took root. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Was I out of line back there?” Concern tightened his features.
If he was, then so was she. She shook her head. “That’s not it.”
He grinned. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Around seven?”
“No,” she said, quickly. “You should have as little to do with me as possible.”
He let out a long sigh. “I thought you realized I don’t believe all that nonsense about you.”
Eleri did her best to ignore the warmth his words lit in her chest. “Whether you believe it or not, there were twelve bodies pulled out of The Devil’s Eye.”
She didn’t want Kyle to wind up the same way.
He reached out and gave her hair a gentle tug. “I owe you dinner. Now, you can meet me at the lodge at seven, or I’ll turn up here with dinner. Maybe you’d prefer that, though. Give Mr. Warlow another shot at grilling me.”
Her mouth twitched in spite of herself. Apparently he wasn’t going to accept no for an answer. Maybe dinner wasn’t a bad idea. After all, visiting him in the evening would at least give her the peace of mind of seeing he was still alive.
“All right,” she relented. “I’ll be at the lodge for seven.”
“Good.” He made his way to his car. Eleri watched from the doorway until his taillights disappeared into the dark, then she stepped inside and closed the door.
She was going to see him tomorrow, have dinner just like a date. Her unease battled her anticipation.
She’d never dated before. Living in the village with the reputation her stepmother had created for her didn’t exactly have the local boys lining up to take her out. When she’d gone away to university, she’d kept to herself, terrified the stories from home would follow her. When her father grew ill and his money dried up, she’d been forced to come home with a year and a half left for her degree.
She’d met Griffin almost as soon as she’d come back. Met was the wrong word. She’d known him for years. They’d grown up together even though they’d never exchanged more than a few words. He’d looked at her with the same terrified awe as everyone else. She couldn’t put her finger on what and why things between them changed, but that year they’d been caught in a whirlwind.
Still, they hadn’t dated. Between his father and her reputation, they’d had to keep their budding romance a secret. Though, clandestine meetings had their merits, too.
But in a village as small as Cragera Bay, nothing remained secret for long.
Stephen Paskin would forever taint her memories of Griff. She wished she could think of one without the other. But how could she? Stephen Paskin had forced them to make a decision.
Griffin had wanted to leave, he’d been planning to for months, and he’d wanted Eleri to go with him. But she’d been afraid. And so she’d stayed and Griffin had gone.
She shoved away the dark thoughts and locked the front door, suddenly exhausted. It had been a long, strange day. All she wanted was to climb into bed and give her brain a break.
She started for the stairs, but the shrill ring of a telephone stopped her midstride. Frowning, she glanced at her watch. Nearly ten o’clock. Who would be calling now?
Her insides shrivelled as she hurried into the study and snatched the receiver from the cradle.
“Hello?”
“Eleri, it’s me. Am I calling too late?”
At the sound of Brynn’s voice, the tension gripping Eleri drained. She sagged into the chair behind the desk. “Not at all.”
“Good. I can never remember the time difference. I kept thinking seven hours and Reece swore it was only five.” A muttered voice sounded in the background, too low for Eleri to make out the words. “I know that. I thought they were the same,” Brynn spoke to the voice, before addressing Eleri again. “That was Reece. He says it’s the flight that’s seven hours, not the time difference. I’m babbling. How’s everything there?”
“Fine so far,” Eleri told her, doing her best to infuse her voice with false cheerfulness. Was Brynn calling to break the news she wouldn’t be back, that she and Reece had decided to stay?
“No word from Harding yet? Have they identified any of the remains so far?”
“If they have, the information hasn’t been made public.” Eleri hated even thinking of the man. A strange, irrational fear lived inside her that merely mentioning the detective would summon him like an evil spirit.
“I guess no news is good news.” But Eleri could hear the uncertainty in Brynn’s voice. “Anyway, I called for a reason.”
Here it comes. A sudden lump swelled in her throat, cutting off her ability to speak, so Eleri waited wordlessly for Brynn to tell her she wasn’t coming back.
“I know I said we’d be back in less than a week, but I may have been a touch ambitious with my timeline.”
“A touch?” This time Eleri heard Reece’s wry voice clearly. He must have been sitting next to Brynn. A tiny flicker of envy flashed inside her. Not that she begrudged her sister her happiness, but Eleri couldn’t help but think about how nice it would be to have someone in her corner, someone to lean on, to believe in her.
Her mind flashed to Kyle. The warmth of his kiss still imprinted on her lips.
What was she doing, spinning schoolgirl daydreams about the man? She was on the brink of being arrested for multiple murders, and he stood a good chance of winding up a victim. The odds of any sort of romantic future weren’t good.
“My point is—” Brynn dragged Eleri’s attention back to their conversation “—we’re going to be longer than I thought. Probably another week, maybe ten days. If something happens before then, get in touch and we’ll be on the first flight out.”
Brynn was coming back. She wasn’t abandoning Eleri to face this mess alone.
There was a commotion in the background again. “That will be our dinner, I should let you go. I’m so sick of fast food. I’ll be glad to eat something homemade again.”
Eleri snorted. “I know how you feel.”
“Give my regards to Mrs. Voyle,” Brynn said, with a chuckle. “I’ll call in a few days to see how you’re doing.”
“Right, enjoy your dinner. Good night.” Eleri set the phone back in the cradle, relief turning her limbs heavy. They were coming back. Not as soon as she’d hoped, but they were coming back.
Eleri stood, left the study and climbed the stairs. The sconce at the top was still out, but there was no mossy stink, no writhing shadows. Keeping her gaze fixed on the vine-patterned carpet, she hurried past.
Once in her room, she began to undress but stopped when she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. What in the world did Kyle see in her? She wasn’t repulsive, she supposed, but there was nothing about her that stood out. The most interesting thing about her was her name was tied to twelve murdered men. Hardly something to interest the opposite sex—unless the man in question had a few issues of his own. Was that Kyle? Was
he some kind of crazy who got a thrill from being with a possible serial killer?
Not likely. He was too stable, too…grounded for that sort of nonsense. Or maybe she was too smitten to see the truth.
She blew out a long sigh. Too damned tired to think about all that now, she’d worry about it in the morning.
Eleri finished unbuttoning her blouse and let the material slide from her shoulders. Kyle’s scent wafted from the fabric. God, he smelled good, clean and spicy and…familiar.
Eleri froze. He did smell familiar. She balled up her blouse, pressed the fabric to her nose and inhaled deep. Where had she smelled that scent before?
For crying out loud, he probably wears cologne that anyone else could buy.
Maybe, but she’d smelled this recently. Nipping the corner of her lip, Eleri crossed to her wardrobe and yanked open the door. There, hanging amongst her own clothes, was an old brown suede coat. A man’s coat.
Eleri gripped one shoulder and tugged it off the hanger. She had no idea who the coat belonged to. Last month, during the night Ruth had tried to kill her sister, the nurse had drugged both Eleri and Brynn and left them at The Devil’s Eye. Eleri had woken first, still groggy and disoriented from whatever Ruth had injected her with. She hadn’t been able to rouse Brynn, so she tried to make her way back to the house for help. Instead, she tripped and lost consciousness in the woods. When she woke, she was on the settee in the study wrapped in this coat with no memory of how she’d gotten there.
Now Eleri’s grip tightened on the soft fabric, lifted it to her face, and she inhaled deeply.
The scent on the coat had grown faint over the past weeks, but it was still discernible. And smelled just like Kyle. Not similar to, but exactly like Kyle.
Cold swept through Eleri like an icy wind. He’d been the one to find her in the woods last month, to return her to Stonecliff. He’d lied tonight. He had been here before. No doubt his sudden attraction to her was a lie, too. Pain zinged through her quick and sharp, like sugar on a rotted tooth.
Why go through the trouble of making her believe he was interested in her? What did he want?
Possibilities played in her head—he was working with Harding, related to someone who disappeared from here. A wave of anger swept through her and smothered the hurt.
Whoever he was, whatever he was planning, by God she was going to find out.
* * *
He shouldn’t have kissed her.
Kyle drummed his finger against the steering wheel and focused on the dark road before him. The white glow of his headlamps was the only respite in the endless black.
Kissing Eleri James, he was playing a dangerous game. And if he wasn’t careful, the whole situation would explode in his face.
He’d only meant to flirt with her a little. The way her eyes had flared when her gaze fell on him the minute she’d entered the study, he’d seen his opportunity. She was attracted to him, and he could work with that.
God knew he had in the past.
A little flirting, a little charm—it had been a while since he’d used either, and he was admittedly rusty, but it had come back to him—and he might just get close enough find out if she’d played a role in his attack, or knew who did. His plan had been working, too. Despite Warlow’s probing questions meant to put Kyle on the spot, Eleri had blushed prettily—she looked better with a little color in her cheeks—and tried desperately to change the subject.
He hadn’t meant to kiss her, though. He’d been rattled when their conversation shifted to the reporter.
When he’d left home and moved to London, he’d been eager to put as much space as possible between himself and the life he’d grown up with, to be something more than the third of the four Peirs children. He’d started using his middle name, Jamison, professionally, soon shortened to Jack by friends and colleagues.
Tonight, listening to Eleri speak so casually of his old persona, a strange split gripped Kyle. Part of him felt like he was talking about someone he used to know, someone who had died and Kyle didn’t particularly miss, while the other part of him flashed back through time, and he was once more naked and bound before The Devil’s Eye.
Sick fury had built slowly inside him. She must have seen it in his face. She’d shut down, closed off. She’d wanted him gone. He’d kissed her as a distraction, hoping she might even believe his weird behavior was a result of his pent-up attraction. Whatever, so long as she opened up to him again.
He hadn’t considered how her eager response would catch him like a kick to the gut. How perfectly her small frame would fit against him. How soft her skin would be. How sweet she’d taste.
It had been ages since he last thought about sex. Getting through a single day without the memories of The Devil’s Eye crippling him was about all he could manage most of the time. But the moment he’d tasted her mouth, want had slammed into him like a truck. Without thought or regret, he could have easily hoisted her onto the counter and lost himself between her legs.
What in the hell was wrong with him?
Maybe coming back to this place and facing the past that had haunted him for so long had left him stronger, and his sex drive was returning.
Or maybe, and far more likely, when he stuck his tongue into a pretty woman’s mouth he was bound to respond. Either way, he would be sure to be more careful with Eleri in the future.
Kyle turned off the road and steered up the winding drive. Black closed in on him, thick and almost tangible. Only the beams from his headlamps cast a pale gray glow over gnarled trees and long grass, the eerie lighting somehow worse than the pitch dark.
He stopped his car in front of the lodge, but didn’t cut the engine. The house stood dark before him. When he switched off the car, the headlights would fade until he would be engulfed in darkness. A shudder rippled down his spine and his stomach pulled tight. He should have left a bloody light on inside.
He switched off the car, got out and hurried to the lodge’s front door. He stepped on something hard, the sole of one shoe rolling over a hardened lump. His pulse jumped. What in the hell was that?
He unlocked the door, shoved it open and hit the switch on the wall. The ugly, overhead fixture filled the small hall will pale light, the glow spilling out onto the stone step and illuminating an old shank of knotted rope.
His pulse beating so fast he could taste it, Kyle sank onto his haunches for a better look. Brown rust had hardened the fibres. He plucked up the rope with his thumb and forefinger and narrowed his gaze. Was that paint, or—his stomach shrivelled—blood?
He straightened, gaze sweeping the pitch black surrounding him. The hair on the back of his neck bristled. Someone had left this for him because it sure as shit hadn’t been there when he had left.
Who?
But part of him already knew the answer: whoever had tied the rope around his wrists in the first place.
II
“Jack, you need to tell your mother that you’re coming home with me. She seems to think you’re going to Dorchester with them.”
Jack’s dead. The words popped into Kyle’s head so quickly, he would have blurted them out if speech had been possible. Instead, he watched Leigh hurry about his hospital room with a quick efficiency that he used to admire, but now left him dizzy and a little nauseous. To be fair, the nausea wasn’t Leigh’s fault. The delightful cocktail of painkillers turned him light-headed and made his stomach queasy—but they also left him fuzzy and too detached to care.
According to his doctor, he was healing nicely. Due to the jagged angle of the cut, there would undoubtedly be scarring, but there was a chance that he might speak again. Might.
In the meantime—he glanced over to the pen and paper on the table next to his bed—he could still write. He should be grateful for that, at least. After all, he lived by his pen.
No, Jack lived by his pen, but Jack was dead. Besides, writing had landed him in this mess to begin with.
“I know they’re worried for you,” Leigh conti
nued, refolding the clothes his mother had folded into his bag earlier that morning. Checkout time was tomorrow, and a thin sliver of fear wriggled through his bleary indifference like a persistent worm every time he thought of it. Maybe he needed another pill. “But you have a home of your own. God knows you’ll recover faster with me than you will smothered by that lot.”
Kyle reached out for his pen and pad. His responses from his conversation with police earlier that morning seemed to glow from the top sheet. They hadn’t believed him, not a word.
He crumpled the paper into a tight ball. Leigh glanced up as he started to print on the clean page.
I want to go home
“I know you do,” she said, a soft smile lighting her lovely face. She was a stunning woman with dark brown, almost black, hair and brilliant blue eyes. Normally, she could get anything she wanted from him with that smile, but right then he was completely indifferent to it, to her. Maybe it was the drugs. “The doctors and specialists in London will be better than anything you’ll find in bloody Dorchester, I can promise you that. And once you’re settled, we’ll have a little welcome home for you. Nothing too big, just a few friends. Everyone’s been asking for you.”
Cold knotted his insides. The stares. The questions. He tapped the tip of his pen on the paper to get her attention.
to Dorchester.
Leigh frowned. She never liked to be told no. “I realize what you’ve been through was traumatic, but you can’t simply hide from the world. The sooner you’re home, back to your routine, the sooner you’ll be back to normal.”
He would have laughed at the very idea if he could. Normal was gone and never coming back. He underlined Dorchester, hoping Leigh would finally understand.
Fat, glossy tears welled in her eyes and her mouth pulled down at the corners. She could get her way with her smiles, but Kyle never reacted to her tears, even before The Devil’s Eye.
“What about us?” she asked in a small voice. “What about you and me, Jack?”
