Bella bared her teeth, glaring at him bravely as he towered over the short basset hound. Her nose lifted and she inhaled a sharp breath. Owoooooooooooo! Owooooooooo!
The dog’s war cry got the stranger’s attention for a split second, but he quickly returned his narrowed gaze to Rose. “I don’t know who you are, but you’d better have a damn good reason for breaking into my house.”
* * * *
Leo Drake’s head ached. He couldn’t shake off his disorientation, certain he walked around in some awful dream.
“Your house?” Disbelief showed in the woman’s rich blue eyes as they widened. Her gaze drifted to his arms. “Could you please lower the bat? I didn’t break in. I have a key.” She lifted a key on a plastic ring he didn’t recognize.
Shit. He lowered the bat and took the last step down into the foyer. Goddamn Everett must’ve rented the place again.
She dropped her arms. “Wh-who are you?”
“This is my house. Who are you?”
“Emma. Emma Morris.” She hesitated a brief second then jutted out her chin, her heart-shaped face shifting into a more confident pose. “I have papers showing I’m renting this place.” She lifted a manila envelope off the table near the door. “For at least this month, possibly longer. Are you Everett?”
He clenched his jaw at the mention of his brother’s name. “No. Leo Drake. My brother and I share ownership of the house. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.”
Her shoulders slumped. Uncertainty crossed her face as she reached up and tucked one side of her wispy, Lucille Ball–red hair behind her ear, highlighting a faded red stain on her neck near her lobe, perhaps from hair dye.
“Leave?” She shook her head. “No, I can’t.” She straightened her posture and a razor-sharp edge glistened in her determined eyes. “I signed a lease. My options are limited, so we’d better get this straightened out.”
Leo took a step closer to her, his height a good head above hers. She didn’t back away, only stared back with unyielding determination. Moxie when the going got tough always impressed him. A quality Camille had never possessed; his deceased wife had been so afraid of conflict she’d rather pretend to be happy. Even if it meant avoiding health concerns, from her mental health issues that had worsened over time, to allowing a cancer diagnosis to have its way. Further proof he was powerless to save those he loved.
He swept aside the wave of grief and studied the stranger from top to toe. Mickey Mouse struck his trademark kicked-back pose on her chest. Patterned pants lined her legs, looking more like they belonged on a clown or someone still in high school. Not this grown woman, whose age he guessed at over thirty and who spoke with more polish than her bad wardrobe taste would suggest.
She pulled out her cell phone from her windbreaker pocket. “Does Meg know you’re staying here?”
“Who’s Meg?”
“The real estate agent.” She searched through an envelope and removed a business card. “I’m calling her.”
“Well, it’s pointless. Everett shouldn’t have leased this place again.”
She ignored him and dialed. He glanced at the dog, who threatened him with bloodshot eyes and a wagging tail. Some watchdog. He resisted the urge to bend over and pet the cute guy.
Leo lifted his gaze to the uninvited guest. “There’s no way I’m leaving my own house.”
“We’ll see.”
“Listen—” He paused, already forgetting the stranger’s name. “You can’t—”
She turned her back on him. “Hello, Meg…”
A renter. The last thing he needed. Returning to the Northbridge house to get work done had been Leo’s last resort. Both his publisher and agent called him regularly, anxious to know about the book’s progress. The deadline to turn it in neared, an ever-constant source of stress. The lake house stood amongst his favorite writing places. Back here, he expected to find his muse. God knows he couldn’t find it anywhere else.
The return to this house was about more than work, although he’d never tell his brother. A desperate need to be alone ate away at him every day. He needed quiet. Peace. Surroundings completely different than everything he’d shared with Camille, with no reminders that their life together had been taken from him just when it seemed to be getting started.
Rage for his brother pulsed through his veins. Everett had better be armed for a good fight. Since childhood, Everett had won every battle the brothers ever shared. This time, though, Leo wasn’t about to give in.
Chapter 2
“Co-owner of the house?” Meg’s fiery glare aimed right at Leo, the strong stance undermined by a T-shirt with World’s Greatest Mom splayed across her ample chest. “Oh, wait. I do remember a joint ownership, only the paperwork said Everett would be handling rental matters.”
Rose stifled a yawn and stood quietly to the foyer’s side to let the real estate agent take control of this mess. The long day had caught up with her during the wait for Meg. Leo Drake had disappeared upstairs during that time, leaving Rose in a formal living room with heavy drapes and antiques. Seated on a golden French provincial sofa made of threadbare but clean fabric, she’d twice almost drifted to sleep. The second the doorbell rang, Leo had returned with his hair brushed and eyes fully awake.
Meg pursed her full lips. “The problem is that Mr. Drake—the other one—never told me things had changed.”
Rose gave the woman credit. She hadn’t blown her cool, delivering all her concerns to him with the same sugar-coated sweetness she’d spoken to Rose with upon her arrival.
Leo shrugged, seemingly undeterred by her persistence “What can I say?” His deep voice carried a soft quality around the edges, but there was no mistaking the smidgeon of arrogance evident in both words and actions. “Everett never was the best communicator. It doesn’t matter. I’m here now and this rental situation—”
“But I’ve always dealt with your brother and have to follow the paperwork unless he says otherwise. You see what I’m saying?” Meg nodded and the edges of her blunt cut moved stiffly.
Leo closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thick fingers. Rose almost felt sorry for him. Almost. She had her own problems, bigger than a sibling miscommunication.
“How’d you get in here, anyway?” Meg narrowed her eyes. “Do you have a key?”
He exhaled, removed his hand, and opened his eyes. “Of course. It’s my house.”
“Hmmm. So how long have you been here?”
“I arrived shortly after the last renter left.” He shifted, discomfort a little too obvious. “I heard the house was vacant and decided to stay. I did tell Everett.”
Rose almost let out a snort. Classic liar body language. How had she missed all the clues in her bastard of an ex-husband?
Meg tilted her head. “How do I even know you’re who you say you are?”
“Oh, dear God.” Leo rubbed his grainy cheek with his palm. “Hold on.” He trudged up the staircase, scowling all the way.
Meg turned to Rose and dropped her voice. “I’m so sorry, Emma. I knew there was another brother besides Everett. They used to come here years ago. But since Mr. Drake Senior died, I haven’t seen hide nor hair from this other son. Then he sneaks in here, unannounced.”
Leo’s footsteps on the old staircase signaled his return. Meg turned his way, her chin lifted high. He stopped in front of her and flipped open a black Hugo Boss wallet, the embossed logo visible on one side. Not a cheap wallet, but based on the size of this house, Rose figured there was family money. While he dealt with Meg, Rose inspected the rest of Leo, from his sweatpants carrying a coffee stain to his wrinkled shirt missing two buttons. A strange contrast to the costly wallet.
“Is a New York state driver’s license enough proof?” Tight lines strained Leo’s eyes, and his strong jawline went stiff.
Meg studied his ID, glancing up at him then back to the license. “I guess it’s you. You need a shave.�
� Leo raised a brow, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Anywho, I left a message for your brother. He hasn’t called back yet.”
“Fine. We can deal with this tomorrow. There are a few hotels around the lake where she—”
“No way.” Rose stepped forward. The quick escape plan was all she had to hold on to. Fear had pushed her to run and now nipped at her heals like a hungry wolf. “I’m exhausted and not going to a hotel. You seem to forget I signed a lease with your brother.”
He tilted his head, considered her with something she almost deemed compassion for a fraction of second, and then tonelessly mumbled, “And we’re back at square one.”
“You could stay at one.” Rose lifted a brow.
“Instead of my own house?”
She shrugged even though she knew the suggestion was a long shot. “It’s not easy to find a place that’ll take dogs.”
He turned to Meg. “I assume you told this woman the reason we lost the last renter here. Plus, the rumors about the house?”
Rose cleared her throat. “My name is Emma.”
The name still tasted wrong to her lips, even though she’d heard it often during her childhood. Emmaline Rose Holloway, adored child of celebrity parents. A persona that one day had vanished right off the face of the earth.
Leo arched a brow. “Okay, Emma.” He studied her for a moment, eyes squinting as though he possessed the ability to see inside her mind. Slowly, he turned his attention back to Meg. “I hope you’ve been honest with Emma about this place.”
Meg tilted her head, narrowed her eyes. “How do you know what happened? We kept it very quiet.”
“Harry Gallagher next door told me. Seems he and the old tenant were friendly.” Leo gave his full attention to Rose. For the first time since her arrival, a paper-thin smile traced his lips. “I hate to tell you, but you’ve been misled.”
Rose glanced at Meg. “What’s he talking about?”
“Don’t listen to him.” Meg waved her hand through the air. “It’s silly.”
“Not so silly at all. I’m sure if you knew the full story, you’d be happy to stay elsewhere.”
“What is it?” Rose cut a glance between them both. “It can’t be that bad.”
Meg sighed and her shoulders wilted. “Well, the last tenant left because he claimed the house is haunted. I don’t believe it’s true, so I didn’t want to alarm you.”
“Haunted? Like how?”
“Strange noises, flickering lights.” Bella walked up and sniffed at Meg’s stark-white Keds. Meg smiled and patted Bella on top of the head.
Rose’s parents had been screen actors. She’d grown up in the land of make-believe and watched horror movies made from behind the scenes. As a rule, she didn’t believe in such stories and pretty much figured people were scaring themselves with runaway imaginations.
Leo raised a brow of overdone concern in Rose’s direction. “I’m sure you wouldn’t be comfortable here alone, especially once you learn about the murder. In fact, that’s probably why a ghost lives in the house.”
The hairs on the back of Rose’s neck prickled at the word murder, but she did her best to hide it. She kept eye contact with Leo. “I don’t believe in ghosts. But I am curious about a murder.”
Meg winced.
“Go ahead, Meg,” Leo said, his tone eerily reminiscent of the announcer for The Twilight Zone. “Tell her about the murder.”
“The rumors about the place being haunted have been around since I was a kid.” Meg spoke fast, her hands flying all over the place. “Shortly after this house was built in the 1930s, the man who built it shot his wife. To be honest, the tenant who was here last is the first time anybody has admitted to seeing anything paranormal.”
“I hear things.” Leo maintained a straight face.
Rose shook her head. “It’s fine, Meg. Like I said, I don’t believe in the supernatural.”
Leo shrugged. “Can’t say you haven’t been warned.”
Rose wasn’t buying his staged indifference.
Bella wandered over to Leo and sniffed his still-bare feet. Her long, silky ears hit the ground. She lifted her pitiful eyes, swished her tail. Leo’s expression remained stiff. Though he was a handsome man, the warmth missing from his personality diminished his good looks.
He lifted his gaze from the dog to Rose. “It’s a moot point, anyway. You can’t stay—”
“Wait!” Meg’s faced brightened. “There might be only one way to skin a cat, but not when I’m on the case.”
Leo scowled. “The expression is ‘There’s more than one way to skin a cat.’ Not, well, whatever you said.”
Meg glanced his way, her cheery expression persevering with no regard for his correction. “All I know is I’ve got a great idea.”
Leo groaned.
“There’s a separate in-law suite in the house where Emma could stay.”
“Oh no,” Leo said, an undercurrent of panic in his voice. “She’s not—”
“It’s got its own living room, bathroom, and a separate bedroom. Perfect!”
“It’s not perfect. It’s—”
“For tonight.” Meg held up her index finger, pointed it in Leo’s face. “We let Emma stay here tonight. Tomorrow morning, I’ll talk to Mr. Drake—the other Mr. Drake—and we’ll figure out the rest.”
“Works for me.” Rose crossed her arms and stared at Leo, trying not flinch at his frostier-than-ice glare. All she wanted right now was to get some rest.
The muscles in his thick neck tightened and he turned, heading for the stairs. “Do as you wish. I’ve got work to do.”
* * * *
Leo bypassed his bedroom and went straight to the attic, but he couldn’t get the new renter out of his head. When had he become so withdrawn he couldn’t reach deep and be a little nicer to a stranger with a problem? Okay, so he’d never been the most outgoing guy in a crowded room. But people had always seemed drawn to his quiet and introspective personality. Since he’d lost his wife, though, friends teased him about being a little bit of a crank. Crusty but loveable, many of them said. It only got worse as the days passed. The grumpy side controlled him. He mulled over the change in himself, only it filled him with more regret.
Yes, he should’ve been nicer to that woman. Outside of her defiant exterior, he could’ve sworn he’d spotted fear, kicking in his—oh, what had his sister called it, his savior complex? His fist curled tight with anger at himself. After losing Camille, he’d vowed not to fall into his usual pattern of trying to fix everything for a woman. Since his first high-school girlfriend, he’d been drawn to damsels in distress like bees gravitate to honey. Never with the same sweet results. At this point, all his energy needed to go to finishing this damn book, not helping yet another damsel.
He climbed the steep staircase leading to his office, stomping out his anger on each step. Another roadblock to his productivity. At the top of the attic stairs, the unfinished knotty pine scent greeted him like an old friend, giving him a comfort most would find hard to understand.
When he was a young boy, he’d hide up here with his journal, recording his innermost thoughts. The decorating he’d done as a teenager remained on the walls: a Green Day poster and one from the Stephen King movie Misery. A sort of man-cave for an adolescent boy who wanted to escape reality and leave behind all the bad things that had already happened in his young life—all of them before he’d arrived in the Drake household.
He plopped into the worn leather chair near his desk, positioned to look out the window toward the backyard and lake. All he saw was darkness and lights from homes on the other side of the lake. He lifted his cell phone off the desk. Switzerland was either five or six hours ahead of Connecticut, meaning it was the middle of the night. He dialed his brother’s number anyway.
It went straight into voice mail. “You’ve reached Everett Drake. Please leave a message.”
Leo waited for the beep. “It’s me. Shall I assume you
never got my message two months ago saying I’d be staying at the Northbridge house? I know you have no interest in speaking to me, but I’d hoped you could at least respect my right to be here. When it comes to matters of joint ownership with this house, it seems we should make an effort to communicate better.”
What had his father been thinking when he gave them shared ownership of this place?
“The real estate agent was just here. So is the woman you leased the house to. We need to get this straightened out.”
He hung up and put the cap on a bottle of scotch he’d nursed this afternoon. Drinking wasn’t usually his thing, but the dreary weather and inability to move forward on his manuscript were taking him to a worse place than a little booze.
Or was it the dream about Camille? She’d been on the fringes of his thoughts as he woke this morning, her image stirring such a bottomless sense of loss he’d struggled to get out of bed. Soreness inside his chest kept him down, an old bruise formed the day a social service worker told a five-year-old boy his mother had died. The news left Leo alone, scared, and wishing he had the power to help her. He’d buried the feelings beneath a brave front, but they were still part of his makeup. Each step into similar relationships always felt like walking on eggshells. The day Camille died, those shells cracked into a million pieces, leaving him with a hardened, miserable heart.
Creating a character mirroring her in this latest book had been a mistake. Leo had hoped Street Views—his agent had loved the title—would allow him to gain some clarity on his life. He’d tossed the proposal together quickly, only somewhat aware that the dynamics in the story were a means to work through his mistakes and the lingering guilt he had over Camille’s bipolar disorder. A problem neither of them had taken seriously enough, until it was too late. The publisher had bit. Now Leo was stuck.
He’d been moving forward with the book at the start, only his progress stalled midway through. No matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn’t figure out why.
Writing this book had forced Leo to admit something; nearly every relationship he’d had with a woman involved him trying to save them in some way. His success rate? Poor. The reason he’d sunk to the bottom of a pit and lost the will to climb out.
Bella Luna Page 2
